


leading to worlds

by Rethira



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 06:56:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 30,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6228379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rethira/pseuds/Rethira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Our sky pirate becomes a soft touch, it seems,” Fran says, with a smile. “Who would have thought it.”</p><p>“<i>I’m</i> not the one offering to teach gutter-churls how to read,” Balthier points out, perhaps a touch too loud.</p><p>“You’re going to teach us how to read?” Vaan asks, and he’s looking at <i>Balthier</i> as he says it.</p><p>“No,” Balthier says, with a shake of his head, “Fran is.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	leading to worlds

**Author's Note:**

> so two weeks ago i started writing a cute little thing about vaan learning to read. i had no idea what i was getting into
> 
> i'd like to thank noah for coming on this wild ride with me
> 
> title from _kiss me good-bye ___

“You’ve been staring at that hunt request for a while now,” Balthier comments. “Having a little trouble, are you?”

Vaan starts, glancing at him. “Huh? Oh, well yeah,” he says, rubbing his nose. “It’s all written in Standard.”

That gives Balthier some pause; he had been jesting. “You can’t read?” he asks, and some surprise must leak into his tone because Vaan turns to look at him more fully.

“Sure I can _read_ ,” he insists, “just not Standard.”

Balthier frowns. “Forgive me for asking, but then, _what_ can you read?”

Vaan rolls his eyes. “You know Dalmasca has like seventeen languages, right? Back home all the signs and hunt requests and stuff were translated into a couple of those as well as Standard.”

“You are fluent in many of these languages, then?” Fran asks.

Vaan grins – rather charming, really. “Sure am!” he brags.

“Not doing you much good out here, though, are they?” Balthier murmurs. “No matter. Ask Fran or I whenever you need assistance with these.” He taps the hunt request. “This fellow’s over near the mines if you want to see him.”

Vaan looks at him for a moment, eyes briefly sharp; he’s not _entirely_ a fool, this gutter-churl. Then he smiles again, brightly, says, “Huh. Thanks, Balthier,” and runs out of the tavern.

“My thanks also, for volunteering me,” Fran murmurs, but Balthier can tell she doesn’t truly mind by the way her eyes crinkle as she says it.

“Bah. ‘Twould do no good to have him squinting at signposts all day and you know it,” he replies.

 

In truth, he’d hardly expected Vaan to take him up on it. Like as not, he’d be able to find someone to tell him what hunt requests said, even unaccompanied by Balthier or Fran. But Vaan’s unhesitant to call either of them over when he’s struggling – it seems he can read _some_ Standard, though poorly.

Basch notices after only a short time; when Vaan confesses his inability to read Standard, Basch seems to take it like a physical blow. “I... I am sorry,” he says, as if it’s his personal fault that Vaan lacks this skill. “I had not realised the schooling in Rabanastre had-”

Vaan snorts. “I never went to school,” he says, easily. “And after the war, most of us orphans couldn’t go.”

Basch nods, thoughtful. “When this is all over, I will see what can be done,” he promises.

It doesn’t really do anything for their situation _now_ , but then, Balthier’s coming to expect that of people like the good captain. Can’t ever quite live in the present – at least, not when there’s a future they so desperately want to see just around the corner.

 

Penelo reads only a little better than Vaan, it seems. “My parents were teaching me,” she says, and here’s another Dalmascan who’s never seen the inside of a schoolroom, “but then the war started and....” Penelo shrugs. “There were more important things to think about.”

“Hm. Well, I extend the same courtesy to you,” Balthier says. “If ever you find yourself in trouble, ask Fran or I and we will gladly assist.”

Penelo giggles. “So you’ll read everything for me?”

Balthier pauses. There’s something of the canny guttersnipe in Penelo’s expression. “Within reason,” he amends.

Brief disappointment flickers across Penelo’s face until Fran asks, “What was it you wished to know?”

“It’s... the Clan Primer....” Penelo starts, hopefully.

Balthier frowns. “Didn’t Vaan get that in Rabanastre?” He certainly had a ratty looking copy by the time they’d reached Bhujerba; Balthier remembers watching Vaan flicking through the pages searching for something, and being mildly surprised that it didn’t fall apart under such harsh treatment.

“Yeah, and it wasn’t such a problem back home,” Penelo says, “but... well, maybe you’d better take a look.” She then produces the offending tome – and it is, indeed, offensive – and opens it to a random page. It’s covered in... squiggles.

“I see,” Fran murmurs, “a Dalmascan language?”

“Several,” Penelo corrects. “Vaan’s been writing in new information as he gets it, but....”

Balthier sighs and rubs his forehead. “No matter. _I_ have a Clan Primer and it should more than suffice. I trust that you and Vaan can at least make out this?”

“Well actually,” Penelo starts laughing to herself, and motions Balthier down to whisper, “Vaan’s handwriting isn’t very good.”

Balthier looks at the squiggles again. It’s one thing to know that they’re words in another language, and entirely a different thing to know that they’re _poorly written_ words in another language. Balthier finds himself struggling to hide a smirk.

“If you request it, I will read you Balthier’s Clan Primer,” Fran says, and perhaps it will always be a surprise to him how good she is with these Dalmascan children they’ve acquired, but in truth, it’s something of a blessing.

“Yes, take it,” Balthier agrees, and almost expects that to be the last he hears about the whole thing.

 

It isn’t, of course. After traipsing through King Raithwall’s tomb for a treasure beyond worth – that is, worthless – and getting betrayed, imprisoned once again, and subsequently almost killed by the Dawn Shard, Fran murmurs to Balthier, “I’m going to teach them.”

“Hm?”

“I’m going to teach them,” Fran repeats, “Vaan and Penelo. They should not be beholden to us for the rest of this journey. They should not be beholden to others for the rest of their lives.”

“Well, better you should teach them than I,” Balthier agrees. “You might improve Vaan’s writing as well.”

Fran nods. “I shall borrow your books, then,” she says, a sly smile curving her lips.

“Tch. If I find sand between their pages, I shall know at whose feet to lay the blame,” Balthier warns, but Fran only flicks an ear at him.

“Our sky pirate becomes a soft touch, it seems,” she says, with a smile. “Who would have thought it.”

“ _I’m_ not the one offering to teach gutter-churls how to read,” Balthier points out, perhaps a touch too loud.

“You’re going to teach us how to read?” Vaan asks, and he’s looking at _Balthier_ as he says it.

“No,” Balthier says, with a shake of his head, “Fran is.”

“I am,” Fran agrees, “if you allow it?”

The smile on Vaan’s face is entirely genuine as far as Balthier can tell. “Uh, duh? Of course I allow it! Hey, Penelo! Come here a minute!”

Penelo’s head appears from the aft of their stolen ship. “Yes, Vaan?”

“Fran says she’s going to teach us how to read!” Vaan exclaims, all but bouncing in his enthusiasm. It’s... distracting.

“Really?” Penelo blinks, looking over at Fran. Fran inclines her head and Penelo cheers – it’s a wonder Basch and Ashe haven’t come up to see what all the fuss is about yet.

“It’s hardly that exciting,” Balthier comments, “and enough jumping around- I’m trying to fly this damn thing, not crash it.”

“ _Has_ he ever crashed his ship?” Vaan asks Fran.

And she’s in a sly mood today, evidently, because she says, “Once, a short time after we met. Nono was most displeased.”

“ _That_ was not my fault,” Balthier protests, “now clear out, the lot of you. I’ll not have so many underfoot on a ship this size.”

Vaan and Penelo are laughing at him, he can tell, but they retreat to the aft of the ship and Balthier lands them at Rabanastre soon enough.

 

“Ah, and before we head out to see the Garif, perhaps you might do me a favour?” Balthier continues, as Vaan comes down the steps behind him.

“What favour?” Ashe asks, warily.

“No need to sound so suspicious, I assure you. I merely intend to collect the _Strahl_ – awfully useful, having an airship around, wouldn’t you say so?” Balthier smiles.

“Sure you can’t mean to fly us all the way to the Garif,” Basch points out. “The 8th Fleet may be gone, but the Imperials will not long leave a gap in their patrols.”

“I mean nothing of the sort,” Balthier starts.

“It’s the sand, right?” Vaan interrupts. “It gets in the vents and clogs them, and anyway, it’s a bad idea to leave your glossair rings running for this long, let alone that close to a jagd.”

“ _Thank you_ , Vaan. Even if we cannot fly her straight to the Garif, we can at least bring her in for repairs and refuelling.”

Ashe frowns even so, but even she can see the sense in it. “Fine. We make for the _Strahl_ , and then the Garif after.”

“Hm. Let’s be sure to pick up anything else we need along the way then, shall we?” Balthier comments.

“Aye,” Basch agrees. “We have a long road ahead of us, and we had best be prepared. If you need anything urgently, buy it now and let’s be on our way.”

“In that case,” Fran says, “Balthier.”

“Hm? Oh, yes – by the gate to the Westersands, Fran. Don’t be late.”

Fran’s ears twitch. “I am never late,” she says, before stalking away.

 

The walk through the Westersands is long, hot and dull. Ashe and Basch cite the need to hurry and keep them moving at a steady pace, although it is plain enough to see that they are less comfortable in the desert than Vaan and Penelo are. The difference in status, one might assume. Still, all of them are more at home in its sandy confines than Balthier is; the sooner he’s free of this place, the better.

“Remind me again, why did we come here?” Balthier asks Fran, while they take a brief break in a rare shaded spot.

“You heard there was a great and bountiful treasure to be had,” Fran replies, “and I did not try hard enough to dissuade you.”

Balthier’s eyes catch on Vaan, drinking from his waterskin. Head thrown back, throat working... pale Dalmascan hair reflecting the sun. “And yet I find myself not entirely regretting this little adventure,” Balthier murmurs.

Fran looks at him out of the corner of her eyes. “Came we seeking one treasure, and found you one quite different.”

“Hah! Treasure, him? No, I think not. I have an eye for it, you know. Pretty enough, I’ll grant you that.” Vaan stretches, out in the sun, and what is the harm in _looking_?

Fran is silent for a while, thinking. It isn’t until Ashe begins to look restless that Fran says, “‘Tis only a fool who holds an emerald and thinks he has glass.” She strides away without giving Balthier a chance to answer.

 

The _Strahl_ ’s engines sound terrible when they reach her – Balthier can’t help but exclaim with some dismay when he sees that she _was_ damaged when the _Leviathan_ fell. She’s listing to one side, flickering between visibility and invisibility. It’s enough to make Balthier clutch his chest.

“That doesn’t look good,” Ashe says, dubiously.

“Our princess has a talent for understatement, it seems,” Balthier snaps, grabbing the mooring line and hauling himself up. “Fran, a little help? The rest of you, stay where you are – don’t need all of you running around up here _quite_ yet.” Even from this height he can see the pout on Vaan’s face. Nevertheless, he does as he’s told. Balthier hurries to the engine room; this close, the glossair rings sound sick even to Balthier’s ears.

After a moment or two, Fran joins Balthier inside the _Strahl_. “Well? How bad is she?”

Balthier clicks his tongue. “She’ll make Rabanastre, but no farther. Nono shall have my hide, no doubt – we’ll make what repairs we can here, I think, or at least clear out the worst of the sand.”

“A task that will surely go faster with more hands,” Fran points out.

Loath though he is to let clumsy fingers touch the _Strahl_ , needs must. “Fine, fine.” He waves her off and makes for the cockpit, sliding into the pilot’s seat and lowering the _Strahl_ until she skims the desert. Even this much seems to strain her, and Balthier can hardly resist running his hands over the _Strahl_ ’s console. Behind him, he can hear Fran welcoming the others aboard and putting them to work, and as soon as he hears the door shut, he brings the _Strahl_ aloft again, finally clear of the polluting sands.

Fran joins him in the cockpit. “Vaan has them about their task.” She smiles. “He’s cleared an airship of Dalmascan sand before, it seems.”

“I don’t doubt it,” Balthier murmurs, keeping his eyes on the horizon.

Fran’s silent for a beat or two and then, “Your books. I may still take them?”

“Hm? Oh. Yes.”

Balthier can hear the smile in Fran’s voice. “They will be very pleased.”

“Children often are.”

Fran’s next words are soft and measured. “They have not been children a long time, I think.”

It’s... true. “No,” Balthier agrees, “they haven’t.”

When they land at Rabanastre, Fran takes only a few of his books with her; one of them, he notices, is his dog-eared child’s primer of faery tales.

 

The muddy flats of the Giza Plains make a stark difference from the desert, Balthier will give them that.

“It only looks like this for a few weeks,” Penelo says, happily mud-stained after a Gigantoad pushed her into a pond. “It’ll all dry up again pretty quickly.” A short way ahead of them, Vaan teases another Gigantoad into attacking, despite Ashe’s cries for him to desist.

“He never learns, does he?” Balthier asks, with a sigh.

Penelo laughs and runs off to- to jump on the creature’s _back_ setting about it with her dagger. Basch gives a cry of warning as both girl and beast tumble into one of the wadis, landing with a splash and disappearing under the water.

“Penelo!” Vaan shouts, scanning the stirred up water, but... he sounds curiously unworried to Balthier’s ears.

“There.” Fran points, and Penelo’s head bursts from the water but a second later, clutching a water stone stolen from the toad’s belly. She’s smiling, of all things.

“I stand corrected,” Balthier says, coming to stand beside Vaan. “ _She_ never learns either. Fran will surely have a delightful time teaching you.”

Vaan looks at him askance. “Huh? Well, yeah, I bet she will!”

“ _Never_ do that again,” Basch is saying, hauling Penelo out of the water. “We make camp here! Penelo is soaked through, and we dare not risk her catching a chill.”

“We waste our time-” Ashe starts.

“No,” Fran interrupts. “Unless you would have us walk through the night as well? Look. Even now, the sky darkens.”

Ashe’s mouth thins. “Do none of you realise the urgency of this quest? Every minute we delay is a minute longer that Vayne has to decide where next to use the nethicite. Even now he may be preparing to unleash it upon Rabanastre!”

“Calm down, Princess,” Balthier says. “I do not think Vayne so hasty an enemy – let us not forget that he waited out his two years to be made consul before he made his bid for the Dusk Shard. Fortune must have seemed to favour him indeed when _you_ fell into his hands as well.”

“I agree with Balthier, Majesty.” Basch bows his head. “He is... patient. Vayne will wait, your Majesty. He will not use such nethicite as he has until the time is right.”

Slowly, Ashe unwinds. “And... it isn’t. Yet.”

“Well, what would he gain?” Vaan says, with a shrug, flopping down onto the damp grass. “Archades already controls Dalmasca, and it’s not like the Resistance is based in Rabanastre or anything. If he destroyed it now, nothing would change.”

Penelo sits down next to Vaan, and tucks her knees up against her chest. “A lot of people would die.”

Fran places a hand on Penelo’s shoulder. “Enough,” she says. “We rest now.”

Basch sighs, wearily. “Aye. I’ll get a fire going.”

 

The stars are unusually bright to Balthier’s eyes, even by the light of the fire. In Archades they were much dimmer, he recalls, barely pinpricks of light. Out here, there are stars Balthier’s never seen before. Great swathes of the night sky are suddenly clear to him – should have done this before. But it had been a rare few nights that had left him outside the _Strahl_ with naught but the stars for company; tonight Fran begins giving a pair of gutter-churls lessons in reading and writing.

Balthier’s not quite listening. He’d caught his name early on, doubtless when Fran confessed who donated the books, but since neither Penelo nor Vaan had seen fit to bother him about it, Balthier had been content not to bother them in return. Ashe and Basch had retreated to the other side of the fire some time past, heads bent together in boring conversation – the good captain’s eyes wander, but that is all, and the Princess seems determined not to notice.

“Ugh,” Vaan says, loud enough Balthier can’t help but eavesdrop. “Now I remember why I stopped learning this.”

“Having a little trouble there, Vaan?” Balthier calls, and is briefly reminded of how this whole thing began.

The three of them look over at him, and Penelo says, “Vaan is just frustrated that Dalmascan script uses different symbols than Standard.”

Interested despite himself, Balthier says, “I thought there were multiple Dalmascan languages.”

“There are,” Vaan confirms, “but they all use the same or similar scripts. All the ones I know use the same one, so it wasn’t hard to learn the others. Penelo knows a couple of the other ones.”

“You know some words in Standard already, yes?” Fran asks. Penelo makes an affirmative noise, while Vaan makes a more questioning one. “Then it should not be hard to match sound to symbol once again.” Rather than opening one of Balthier’s books, Fran produces something far more basic – it makes Vaan groan, Penelo laugh wryly and Balthier smile. “Do not feel shamed,” Fran admonishes, as she opens the child’s primer, “we all began to learn with something such as this.”

“But-”

“See to your letters, Vaan,” Balthier says, “and I’ll see to dinner.” That at least catches the attention of everyone round the fire, even the erstwhile Princess.

“You cook?” Ashe asks, ever the sceptic.

“I am a man of many talents, after all. Surely some must meet with your approval.” Balthier gets to his feet and moves over to their supplies. With a last uncertain glance, Ashe leaves him to it.

Behind him, Vaan whispers to Fran, “Well, he can’t be worse than Penelo,” though loud enough that Penelo hears – he laughs as she protests his assertion, and then they bend their heads together over the book laid before them.

Balthier shakes his head, and returns to examining such food as they have.

 

“What are you doing?” Larsa asks. For an Emperor’s son, he’s been surprisingly useful on the plains; it remains to be seen if his plan to prevent war will bear fruit. He’s been watching Vaan and Penelo’s lesson since they ate, though without comment until now.

“Learning to read,” Vaan says, easily. His voice carries in the cool night air.

Across the camp, Ashe stills. “You cannot read?” she asks, and if Balthier’s not mistaken there’s stark _horror_ in her voice.

“Vaan! Explain it _properly_ ,” Penelo starts, shoving her friend’s shoulder.

Balthier interrupts. “What our young friend here meant to say is that he cannot read _Standard_. He’s perfectly well versed in... how many Dalmascan languages was it, Vaan?”

“Five!” Vaan announces, with a grin.

“ _I_ can read seven,” Penelo brags.

“But you’re unable to read Standard?” Larsa confirms.

Fran shifts minutely. “They learn quickly. Though lessons were forgotten, the memory remains, buried. ‘Twould go faster still with fewer interruptions.”

Vaan and Penelo burst out laughing, “Larsa got scolded!” It proves to be contagious, and even Balthier can’t contain a chuckle. Fran looks at him, knowingly.

“I had not realised Dalmasca’s schooling had fallen so far,” Ashe murmurs.

“It has not, Majesty,” Basch assures her. “Vaan has told me this himself. He never attended any school-”

Ashe jumps to her feet, crying stridently, “That itself is a failing! _Every_ child should be schooled. _None_ of them should- should reach _Vaan’s_ age and still know not how to _read-_ ”

“Hey, I told you-”

“Why read _Dalmascan_ when all Ivalice speaks Standard?” Ashe snaps. “Why read Dalmascan when even _you_ speak Standard?”

Vaan scowls – even that expression, Balthier admits, is charming on his face – and snaps off a flurry of words that sound, even to him, rather rude. Ashe rears back as if she’s been slapped, and Basch’s face turns white, then red with fury.

“Vaan!” Penelo shouts. “You can’t say that to our Princess!”

Vaan shrugs. “Why not? It’s what we said to all the Imperials.”

“You- you said _that_ to _Imperials_?” Basch asks, horrified. Balthier’s rather regretting _not_ speaking whatever Dalmascan language that was just now. Surely it was quite entertaining if it’s making Basch make that expression.

“ _All_ the time,” Vaan expounds, smirking. “They had _no_ idea. They’d put up signs in Standard too, and we’d ‘translate’ them. I think the Imperial Barracks became-” And there’s another percussive burst of noise from Vaan’s lips that makes Ashe and Basch pale and Penelo giggle despite herself.

All four drop into a rapid fire argument half spoken in a language Balthier doesn’t speak; it sounds rather nice, actually.

Balthier glances sideways at Fran. He leans over a little and murmurs, quietly, “Any idea what they’re saying?”

Fran replies, equally softly, “That would be telling, Balthier.” A pause. “But... it is quite rude.”

“I should expect no less of him,” Balthier replies, with a nod towards Vaan.

“Anyway,” Vaan continues, “my parents taught me this so-” He cuts off suddenly and sharply. “It was what _they_ wanted, so just. When you’re Queen you can make people learn whatever you want, but. But don’t tell people what they _shouldn’t_ learn, okay?”

Ashe’s mouth shuts with a click. “I. I apologise. I shouldn’t- it was wrong of me to- I’m sorry.”

Vaan nods, and smiles at her. He’s very forgiving that one. Naïve, almost to a fault. “Just don’t do it again.”

And that’s it; argument over, everyone back about their business. Balthier only just refrains from giving a round of applause.

 

Fran’s quiet on their way back from the mines. She and Mjrn walk together, not talking so that any hume can see, but they’re definitely saying something.

Vaan drops back to walk beside Balthier in the early afternoon, arms behind his head. “So, uh,” he starts, eloquent as ever. “Is Fran still mad about earlier?”

“Earlier? Oh,” Balthier smirks, “you mean that regrettable scene on the bridge before we left the Wood.”

Vaan at least has the grace to wince. “She’s still mad, isn’t she?”

Balthier _could_ drag this out, just to see the expressions on Vaan’s face – they promise to be delightful – but... damn, Fran was right. He _is_ becoming a soft touch. “Not at all, Vaan. You still have a lot to learn.”

Vaan makes a face. “I’m already getting lessons!”

Balthier shakes his head, laughing. “That’s not even slightly what I meant. Perchance remember to be somewhat more delicate when asking about a lady’s age in future, hm?”

“Huh? No, I just-” Vaan makes a frustrated noise and swipes his hands through his hair, mussing it further. Balthier allows himself a moment’s distraction to imagine it in further disarray, his own fingers doing the dishevelling. He’s interrupted from such folly by Vaan saying, “Back in Rabanastre, the oldest person I knew was Old Dalan – I don’t think anyone knows how old he is. He’s just always been there. And I thought... I guess I thought it’d be nice if... if Fran was always around too, you know?”

Something stirs in Balthier’s stomach then, some instinct he’s not sure he wants to have. “How old were your parents, Vaan?”

He expects Vaan to look upset at the question, like he does when people mention Reks. But mayhap this injury is one that’s long since scarred over – Vaan just shrugs. “I think my mother was in her thirties. My father... a little older? They had Reks when they were about my age.”

“So young,” Balthier murmurs, wincing.

Vaan waves a hand absently. “That’s how it is in Rabanastre.” He glances over towards Penelo where she’s still walking beside Larsa, then leans in towards Balthier, and whispers, miraculously quiet for once, “Don’t tell her I told you, but if my brother hadn’t died, Penelo and him would’ve been,” and Vaan makes a complicated gesture with his fingers that’s only _barely_ this side of obscene.

Balthier raises his eyebrows. “So she too had reason to....” Balthier nods towards Basch. Basch catches the movement and pauses to watch the pair of them both, eyebrows drawn together.

Vaan shakes his head. “Nah, Penelo’s not one to hold a grudge.” He fiddles with the armour on his wrist absently. “She cried when we found out, but she never once hated Captain Basch. Even now I bet... I bet she doesn’t hate his brother either.”

When it looks like Vaan isn’t going to continue, Balthier asks, “And you?”

Vaan shakes himself free of his errant thoughts and grins at Balthier, not quite as impish as usual. “I haven’t decided yet.”

Balthier touches Vaan’s shoulder. “Best make up your mind. With our little Lord Larsa around, you never know when a Judge Magister might appear.”

Vaan hums thoughtfully, but says, confidently, “Larsa wouldn’t let them hurt us, though.”

“True enough,” Balthier agrees, “but sometimes just the meeting can be hurt enough.”

A solemn expression ill suits Vaan’s face; it’s so very tempting to kiss it away. “I guess you’re right,” Vaan sighs. “It’s really annoying, you know? You’re always right about everything.”

“Not always,” Balthier disagrees, “but I’m heartened to hear you have such confidence in me.”

Vaan huffs and finally slips out from Balthier’s hand. “I’ll think about what you said,” he murmurs, and then runs off to jump on Penelo’s back; some things never change.

Balthier rubs his fingers together. They still hold the stolen warmth of Vaan’s skin.

 

The Paramina Rift is cold even fully dressed; for once, Balthier is the only one even slightly sensibly dressed for the weather. Well, Larsa isn’t suffering overmuch, save for when he slips on the ice and Fran has never been slave to changing temperatures as humes are, but their Dalmascan friends are quite a different story indeed.

“We’re going to d-die,” Vaan laments, through chattering teeth. “I d-didn’t know it got t-this cold _ever_.”

“Come now, don’t exaggerate,” Balthier says, “I’ve been in your desert at night. _Cold_ doesn’t quite do it justice.”

Vaan sneezes. “At least it d-doesn’t snow there.” He has his hands wrapped around his sides, not that it’s doing him much good.

Balthier sighs. Tempting though it is to simply wrap an arm around Vaan’s shoulders, and let him leech Balthier’s warmth – he has no doubt the boy would glue himself to Balthier’s side should the opportunity present itself – a more permanent solution is required, not least because Balthier can hardly warm _four_ cold Dalmascans.

“Tell the others to wait here. Fran and I will return shortly,” Balthier says. He stalks away without giving Vaan chance to say anything, but Fran catches up within a few easy strides.

“Balthier the soft hearted,” she murmurs, light voiced, “sky pirate no longer.”

“Hah! Fear not, my dear. Not even that one could charm me from the sky,” Balthier replies, heading towards a band of refugees and merchants.

“But will you charm him up into it?” Fran asks.

Balthier pretends not to hear her – Vaan’s enamoured enough with flight that he needs no other reason to take to the sky. He manages to stop the refugees. Five minutes later, Balthier’s coin purse is somewhat lighter but at least their foolhardy companions won’t freeze to death.

 

“Sounds too good to be true if you ask me,” Balthier says, as they make their way back down Mt Bur-Omisace. “A sword that can destroy nethicite? It’s like something out of a faery tale.”

Back in his cloak, Basch asks, “You would doubt the Gran Kiltias?”

Balthier waves away Basch’s concern. “Oh, I’m sure he believes in the sword. But tales like these becomes muddied as the years pass – did you never play that game as a child, where you would whisper a secret in one friend’s ear and they would pass it to another and another in turn, and by the time the secret returned to you it would be something quite different? Rozarrian whispers or somesuch?”

“Regardless,” Ashe says, “it is all the lead we have. We cannot fight Vayne with the Dawn Shard, and he is like to keep the Midlight and Dusk Shards close at hand – even if we tried to steal them, we have no guarantee of success.” Snow crunches under her feet, her tread unnecessarily harsh. Balthier can understand her irritation.

“We had best hope this sword proves to be all it’s fabled to be then – Fran, have you ever heard of it?” Balthier calls over his shoulder.

Fran shakes her head. “Whispers only of Raithwall’s Tomb. These treasures tempt few pirates down from the sky.”

“And fewer thieves up from the gutter,” Balthier returns; Vaan doesn’t seem to hear him, murmuring together with Penelo. They’re each holding something – in fact, Vaan’s holding something very familiar. Balthier would recognise one of _his_ books anywhere.

Fran’s eyes twinkle. “They study it closely. Soon I think he will read for you, instead of you for him.”

“Hah! I should like that, I think.” Balthier smiles. His mood sours when the weather turns. The wind is bitingly cold, and the snow in the air makes it hard to see more than a few feet ahead. “I should also like to get out of this blasted snow.”

“A sentiment shared by us all,” Basch agrees – he hovers behind Ashe, hands ever ready when she slips. “I mislike this weather... I fear-”

A skeleton staggers out of the building snow before them, and it is not alone. Basch bites out a curse, and they draw their weapons. More come, shambling creatures wrapped in rags, and then an aevis too.

“Seems you were right to mislike it!” Balthier shouts, as he sinks his sword into the beast’s hide.

It bellows and knocks Ashe back – she slips, her feet suddenly stolen from underneath her, but she’s on her feet again in moments. “Cross the river!” she calls, waving her arm.

“What river?” Balthier mutters, but follows her – as soon as his feet touch the ice he thinks, _ah_ , that _river_. A quick Float takes care of the problem of slipping on the ice and then he’s across. The aevis attempts to follow them, still smarting from their attacks, but the ice cracks beneath it, shockingly loud in the still air, and with a final roar the monster disappears beneath the frigid water.

Still panting after his dash across the frozen river, Vaan says, “Wow.”

Balthier sighs and brushes the frost from his trousers. “You are, as ever, a master of understatement. Let’s get moving, shall we?”

 

“Hey, let me read it!” Vaan runs past them as they approach the pedestal. He stares at intently while everyone catches up, and then shakes his head. “Hey, Fran? None of these letters look right.”

Fran peers at the ancient stone. “Hm. It is very old. Carved by Raithwall himself, perhaps? These letters are as stones in the water – all time has flowed around them, and they alone remained unchanged.”

Vaan rubs his nose. “Huh,” he murmurs. “I don’t really get it.”

Fran’s eyes crinkle slightly, as Penelo explains, “She’s saying that the letters _we_ learned are different from they were when Raithwall was alive.”

“‘Tis so,” Fran agrees.

“Enough dawdling; what does it say?” Ashe interrupts.

Fran favours her with a long look but she translates nevertheless, “‘Treaty-seeker: relic held, this pedestal embrace.’”

As she says it, Balthier feels a cold dread in the pit of his stomach – he spins on his heel, and cries a warning as zombies appear behind them. Luckily the creatures fall easily enough to blade and magick.

“Awfully fond of his traps, your ancestor,” Balthier comments to Ashe. “Walls that move, a pedestal that summons corpses... I half expect the statues to come to life.”

“Do not tempt fate,” Fran warns, although Balthier rather suspects it’s too late.

“So, what do we do with this pedestal?” Vaan asks. “Embrace is hugging, right?” Vaan takes a step towards it again, arms outstretched, and only Balthier quickly yanking him back prevents him from summoning another handful of corpses.

“ _Don’t_ hug it,” Balthier says, hand still tight around Vaan’s wrist. “No need to activate the same trap twice.”

“It said a relic, didn’t it?” Penelo says. “What about the Dawn Shard?”

They all look to Ashe – she glances between them. Balthier shrugs, and Basch nods to her. Ashe approaches the pedestal tentatively, careful not to touch it carelessly; as soon as she touches the Dawn Shard to its surface, a flash of light takes them.

When it clears, they’re in another room entirely, and a statue is rousing from its seat.

“I do so hate being right all the time,” Balthier sighs, unsheathing his sword.

 

It’s a long trip back to Nalbina even on chocobo-back, and a morose group that makes it; their eyes have seen too much death recently for Balthier’s liking. And soon he shall see more. This is why he left in the first place-

Balthier makes a frustrated noise and urges his chocobo faster, as if the bird can outrun his thoughts. As he passes Fran, she turns to glance at him but says nothing. It’s no small relief. He has no desire to talk now. Past her are Vaan and Penelo, riding close together, and further ahead are Ashe and Basch – nowhere a conversation he wishes to interrupt. All the same, he’d rather not ride vanguard either.

Vaan grins as he rides past, smile faltering when Balthier doesn’t return it – Balthier catches his hissed, “What’s _his_ problem?” Penelo’s reply is too quiet to make out, and in any case, he’d prefer not to hear it.

There’s an itch beneath his skin. His poor mood is only making it worse; he misses the _Strahl_. If once he’d been told that an airship would become like a fifth limb to him, he would have laughed it off as a poor joke. Now, he misses her with a sharpness that’s almost surprising.

“Hey, Balthier,” Vaan calls, apparently over his earlier snubbing, “are we stopping in Rabanastre?”

“If the Princess wills it,” Balthier replies, though in truth he would like nothing better. The _Strahl_ awaits him there. “We may take the road through the Estersands instead.”

Vaan nudges his chocobo alongside Balthier’s. “Hmph. I hope we do. I bet Migelo’s worried about us.”

“You might ask them to make a detour then,” Balthier says, nodding to the slightly distant figures of Ashe and Basch. His voice sounds harsh even to his own ears, and Vaan flinches. Balthier shakes his head. “Forgive me – I make a poor companion today. All this travel....” Balthier clicks his tongue. “It ill suits me.”

“I think I get it,” Vaan replies. “You want to be flying again.”

“Hm. I didn’t become a sky pirate to traipse around on foot,” Balthier agrees, “and fine though they are, chocobos make poor substitutes for airships.” Luckily, the birds don’t take offense at Balthier’s words.

They ride a few moments in silence, and then Vaan says, “Hey, you think Nono’s got the _Strahl_ fixed yet?”

Balthier snorts inelegantly. “Likely for some time. Never doubt _that_ moogle when it comes to airships, Vaan. Nono’s probably wondering what’s taken us so long.”

Vaan grins as his chocobo hops over a fallen log. “Then if we stop in Rabanastre, maybe you can take her out for a quick flight or two? I know we can’t go into Archades that way but....”

It’s astoundingly thoughtful of him. Naïve too – how is he to know that Balthier won’t simply take his airship and fly her wherever the winds take him? “And what will you be doing while I’m off in the _Strahl_? Getting into more trouble, I’m sure.”

“Nah, actually,” Vaan starts, pausing to pull a crumbled sheet of parchment from his pocket, “me and Penelo thought we could be doing _this_.” He leans half off his chocobo, waving the parchment at Balthier until he takes it.

Balthier examines it; despite the creasing and a handful of stains, it’s still quite clearly a copied out page of letters. Each form of Standard letter has what Balthier’s coming to recognise as Dalmascan script written underneath it.

“What’s this?” he asks.

“You like it?” Vaan asks. “Penelo made it. When we get back to the city, we’re going to get all the orphans together and show them it.”

It dawns on Balthier all at once. “You’re going to teach them how to read Standard.”

“Yep. See that?” Vaan leans over again, pointing firmly to the Dalmascan script. “That’s-” He says a word entirely unfamiliar to Balthier’s ears, then laughs at the expression on Balthier’s face. “I guess the translation would be something like language spoken by the people who live in the Estersands.”

“That seems unnecessarily long,” Balthier murmurs.

Vaan shrugs. “That’s how all the languages are called in Dalmasca. There’s language spoken by the people who live in the Westersands, and language spoken by the people who live near the Giza plains, oh and Penelo _loves_ language spoken by the tribe that travels from the Ogir-Yensa, through the Westersands, down to Giza then through Rabanastre and back.”

Balthier gives Vaan a long, examining look. “Do these languages truly not have shorter names?”

Vaan rolls his eyes, the little upstart. “Yeah! But every time I say them you look completely blank – they’re all _Dalmascan_ names. You know we don’t even call the Estersands the Estersands?”

Balthier frowns, shutting his eyes and bringing a hand to his forehead. “I can see this is going to give me a headache. Why don’t we, for the sake of this conversation, simply call this language Ester for now – is that acceptable to you? And then you can explain the rest of your idea _without_ having to explain the vagaries of Dalmascan languages to me.”

Vaan pulls a face. “Okay so, this- _Ester_ ,” and his voice is _teasing_ as he says it, “it’s one of the commonest spoken languages in Rabanastre. Even if _you_ don’t speak it, someone you know will, and the chances are they’ll read it too. So they know what sounds each sign means and then it’s just matching them to Standard letters. And because everyone can speak Standard anyway, once you can sound out letters it isn’t hard to match them to words you already know.”

This is... surprisingly clever.

Balthier says so, and Vaan’s face splits into an enormous smile. “Well, Penelo thought most of it up,” he murmurs, scrubbing a hand through his hair, cheeks pinking. “I know Ashe and Basch said they were going to do something about schools, but... that’s a long way away, you know?” Vaan shrugs. “It’s better to learn this stuff early on.”

“Hm. You don’t seem to have done too badly,” Balthier replies. “I’m sure your friends will be very grateful to you and Penelo for this.” He folds the parchment more carefully than Vaan had and passes it back to him. “You had best make sure we _do_ stop in Rabanastre, hadn’t you? Wouldn’t do to put all Penelo’s hard work to waste.”

Vaan laughs, lightly, and shoves Balthier playfully in the shoulder. He starts to urge his chocobo into a run, then stops, looks back towards Balthier and promises, “One day, I’ll read to you for a change.” Then he nudges the chocobo onwards, calling, “Hey, Ashe! Wait a second!”

With Vaan gone, Fran draws alongside Balthier in his place. She murmurs, “He does this for you as much for him,” and pretends not to hear Balthier’s huff. “It will be good to spread our wings again,” Fran continues.

“Yes,” Balthier finally agrees, as they crest a rise and Rabanastre comes into sight, “it will.”

 

They do stop in Rabanastre, thanks, Balthier suspects, in no small part to the combined efforts of Vaan and Penelo’s pleading. They run off almost as soon as they enter the city, promising to return sooner or later.

“It is as if they do not understand our urgency,” Ashe murmurs to Basch in passing, but she looks just as exhausted as Balthier feels.

“Our quest will keep, Majesty,” Basch replies. “A few days rest will do us good. It may yet restore your spirits to walk amongst your people again.”

“Hm. Then we part ways here,” Balthier says. “Fran and I will be with the _Strahl_ if you need us.”

Fran catches up to him within a few strides. “You make them uneasy,” she comments. As they move through the crowd, a few people turn to stare. It’s ever been rare to see viera this far from their Wood. ‘tis no small wonder Vaan could scarce believe his eyes-

Balthier makes a frustrated noise and slips between two arguing bangaa. “The sooner I get airborne, the better,” he mutters, turning into the aerodrome and making for his private hangar. One of Nono’s friends is sitting outside, and perks up to see him, jumping to his feet and running inside, doubtlessly to tell the other moogle that the _Strahl_ ’s captain has finally returned.

He has to pause when he sees her. The tightness in his chest uncoils and Balthier rocks back on his heels as Fran walks up behind him.

She lays her hand on his shoulder and murmurs, “Relax,” before making her way over to greet Nono.

“I’m perfectly relaxed.” Balthier walks after her. “How is she, Nono?”

Nono bounces on his feet. “Ready to fly, kupo!”

Balthier claps his hands together. “Excellent work, my friend, as always. Want to join us for a flight?”

Nono and his friends jump up and down excitedly; Balthier’s always found moogles to be refreshingly honest, and Nono is no exception. They follow Balthier and Fran aboard and hop into the passenger seats.

“She’s fully fuelled?” Balthier asks.

“Of course!” Nono sounds slightly offended Balthier even has to ask.

Balthier laughs. “I meant no offence, Nono. A good pilot always checks.”

“All power to the glossair engines,” Fran says.

A smile spreads across Balthier’s face. His hands are trembling slightly when he settles them on the _Strahl_ ’s controls – too excited to be in the air again. Far too excited.

“Then let’s fly,” he says, and they do.

 

It isn’t until later that he thinks he should have asked Vaan to join them.

Too late now; he’s landing the _Strahl_ back in Rabanastre, feeling better than he has in weeks. Fran stretches as he powers down the glossair rings, and Nono and the other moogles thank Balthier for an exciting flight before darting down to the engine room for a quick tune-up.

“Ah, I needed that,” Balthier sighs. “Nothing quite like it, is there, Fran?”

“I can think of none,” Fran agrees, shaking out her hair. “The sky calls me as fiercely as the Wood. It is the same for you?”

“You know it is,” Balthier replies, getting to his feet, and walking back towards his quarters. Untouched since they left for Bur-Omisace if he knows Nono; always the sign of a good mechanic that he knows how to respect privacy, Balthier’s thought, and there’s little enough of it on an airship.

The bed’s been made at least. The gaps on his bookshelf give him brief pause, but then he recalls and wonders... did they like them? How many had they read by now? He’d have to ask them tomorrow. Right now, Balthier sits down tiredly on his bed, pulls off his shoes and lies back on his bedspread. For a moment he just lies there, staring up at the familiar ceiling, one hand resting lightly on his stomach.

It feels good to be home.

Balthier shifts. It would feel _better_ to get out of these clothes; travel stained and worn, he doesn’t doubt. He half doesn’t want to move, but now the thought’s entered his mind and it won’t leave. He sits back up with a groan, every little ache from the last few weeks suddenly making itself known, and begins the arduous task of peeling himself out of his clothes. His shirt and trousers stick, making it particularly unpleasant. More clothes for the midden, if not the fire. Still, they shan’t be the first clothes Balthier’s burnt on this journey – well does Balthier remember falling into mire and muck on their trek through Golmore Jungle. Lucky they’d been close to Eruyt Village at the time, although he can’t say the viera there had particularly appreciated the stink of burning leather.

Fully naked, Balthier heads to the _Strahl_ ’s small shower, eager to wash the dust of the road off. He’s quick about it – knowing Fran, she’ll want a turn soon enough, and hair like hers takes an age to wash properly. He knocks on her door as he passes, to let her know he’s done, and disappears back into his room, still towelling his hair dry. It’s not really necessary; even in the cooler confines of the _Strahl_ , the Dalmascan heat dries the skin very quickly. He rubs the worst of the water off, and heads over to his wardrobe. Clean shirts and trousers hang, neatly pressed, alongside a few of his slightly older vests – but the new one’s beyond saving, to be sure.

No matter. His tailor’s in Archades anyway, and it’ll be simple enough to place an order to collect – the old ones will do ‘til then.

Still, he’s not overly eager to get dressed immediately. There’s been little time to relax on the road, and now he _can_ Balthier wants to take every opportunity. He closes his wardrobe again, and lies back on his bed with a relieved sigh.

His eyes fall shut; darkness and the reassuringly familiar noises of the _Strahl_ at rest serve only to relax Balthier further, and he sinks into his mattress. But the calming aura of the _Strahl_ only does so much and soon enough his thoughts turn to Archades, to Draklor... to Cid.

 _Not_ something he wants to think about. Not now- later. Soon. He’s put it off for long enough.

For now, Balthier tries to steer his mind to lighter topics.

Vaan’s sure to have gathered his little troupe of orphans by now. They’ll be excited probably, like Vaan was. He can picture them now, perched around Vaan and Penelo like a little flock of birds. That is, if Vaan isn’t off getting into more trouble. He attracts it, Balthier supposes. Like the last time they were in Nalbina; only Vaan could end up attracting the malicious attentions of three seeq, and after Balthier had carried Vaan all the way from the entrance.

And then there’d been that business in Bhujerba – granted, they’d _wanted_ the attention then, but even so. Subtlety was evidently a concept entirely unfamiliar to Vaan. Here, in his quarters, Balthier can admit that it’s not wholly unattractive.

In fact, now that he thinks about it, rather a lot of things about Vaan are really decidedly attractive. Maybe it’s simply the warmth from his hand, resting again on his stomach, but heat begins to pool low in Balthier’s stomach. He rubs slightly, considering, and... well, what would be the harm? Vaan would hardly know, and this too is... relaxing.

Balthier shifts to a more comfortable position, drawing one leg up and spreading the other to give himself room to work. He leaves his hand where it is for now, just tracing slow circles on his skin – imagines Vaan watching him, clever eyes catching every wayward movement. Not _quite_ sure whether to help or not, but watching just in case.

Balthier slides his hand up his chest. The caress is merely pleasant under his own hands, little of the headiness he knows other people can inspire, but it still rouses him further. The heat in his belly travels lower – Vaan’s eyes would flick down, unable to look away, and he’d lick his lips. Balthier shudders thinking of it. He’d press his fingers against those lips, push his thumb inside Vaan’s pretty mouth. His rings would push against Vaan’s lips, and Vaan would lick around them, tongue twisting-

Balthier brings his hand to his mouth. Showing Vaan how he should like it. Not _his_ hand in his mouth, these aren’t _his_ fingers, but Vaan’s. Calloused from the daggers he favours, tanned from the sun, those gauntlets he likes only just put to one side. Vaan still watching, now with disbelief, as Balthier swipes his tongue over the palm of Vaan’s hand in long, easy strokes. Balthier slips his fingers into his mouth – Vaan would moan, surely. Loudly. Vaan doesn’t seem the type to be quiet.

He idles like that for a time, lips and tongue teasing between his fingers, imagining them to be Vaan’s instead. But eventually Balthier moves his hand from his mouth. He reaches down, between his legs and cups himself – allows himself a soft groan. Perhaps he _is_ getting overeager; no, _Vaan_ is. He can see it now, Vaan squirming between his legs, mouth still shiny and wet from Balthier’s hands-

Balthier bites out a curse, turns his head into his pillow. His hand wraps more firmly around his erection, and he thinks of Vaan with bitten red lips, hungry-eyed and _eager_ , hands hot on Balthier’s thighs and mouth _teasing_ -

Balthier arches off his bed, panting, as come stripes his stomach. He grinds his teeth together, a long held bad habit from his youth, and doesn’t stop the movement of his hand until the last strings of pleasure have finally petered out.

After cleaning up, Balthier returns to bed. His sleep is, mercifully, dreamless.

 

“Hey, so last night while Penelo and I were,” Vaan makes both complicated gesture and expression, neither of which articulates that he was teaching a group of orphans to read, “I overheard a rumour about the Zertinan Caverns.” He leans forward. Balthier cannot help watching his lips as Vaan whispers, “They say something pretty big’s woken up down there. _Way_ worse than any of the usual monsters.”

“An Esper?” Balthier suggests.

Vaan nods. “It’s gotta be. There’re a couple of hunts posted for the caverns too, so I was thinking....” He smiles, slyly.

“Growing up to be rather cunning, aren’t you, Vaan? Very well – collect the others and I’ll fly us over to the caverns.” Balthier clasps Vaan shoulder briefly, before watching him run out of the hangar.

Fran walks up behind Balthier. “Our soft hearted sky pirate grows softer still,” she teases. “I had best be careful, lest I find him replaced with a dreamhare.”

“Bah, you bear more resemblance to that creature than I,” Balthier replies, pushing away from the door and moving back inside the _Strahl_. “Keep an eye out for our merry band of dethroned royals, wayward knights and gutter-churls will you? No telling how long it will take Vaan to find all of them.”

“In the streets of Rabanastre?” Fran asks, incredulously.

“Ah, good point,” Balthier allows. “We’d best make ready then, before we have him hammering down the door.”

 

Ashe’s mood seems much improved with the Esper Adrammelech bent to their cause, even if they have extended their stop in Rabanastre for another day.

“We must make for Nalbina the day after tomorrow, no later,” she insists, but her voice is not so harsh as it was only the day before. “Already we have spent too much time here.”

“And we are all the better for it,” Balthier says. “A few days rest will make little difference to Vayne’s plans, but it may make all the difference to ours.” He breezes past her. “Take care not to blind yourself in your haste to see things done.”

Ahead of him, Fran is examining the local delicacies. Dalmascan food has never quite been to Balthier’s taste (no matter _what_ Vaan says, cactus fruit is not and shall not ever be Balthier’s idea of fine dining) but the import fees on Rozarrian food have risen dramatically since the Archadian Empire took over. Archadian imports might be affordable, but the idea leaves a bad taste in Balthier’s mouth.

As Fran examines a ripening starfruit, a distracted look flits across her face. She squeezes her shoulder briefly.

“Fran?”

Fran blinks at Balthier. “This Esper,” she says, “I like it... not.”

Balthier cannot fault her that. There’s a reason he declined the dubious honour of binding with it when the time came. “Tell me.”

“It is....” Fran looks briefly distant, as her sister had when talking to the Wood. It’s not an expression Balthier’s used to seeing on Fran’s face. They’ve always understood each other well. “Hard to describe,” she settles on, eventually. “They are not creatures that were meant to exist, I think. The Mist moves strangely with them, and now with I.”

Balthier frowns. “Perhaps we can transfer it? Neither Ashe nor Basch seem troubled by their Espers.”

Fran shakes her head. “Nay. Once pact is done it cannot be undone. Rather... it _should_ not be undone.” Her hand drops from her shoulder – there’s no mark to see there now, but when she’d touched Adrammelech’s Glyph that was where it had appeared. “I will bear it, Balthier.”

“If you’re sure,” he says, despite his misgivings.

Fran nods, and they return to shopping.

 

Archades hasn’t changed; the mere fact that they run across Jules after less than half an hour in the city more than attests to that. There may be a new Emperor on the throne, but the city stinks the same way it did when Balthier left.

He hates it here.

As soon as he can he stops Vaan and says, “We go our separate ways here, Vaan. I’ve some business to attend to. We’ll meet again later.”

Vaan calls out after him, but Balthier ignores it. Fran will look after him – she has more than a passing familiarity with Archades.

It takes only a quick flash of his long held and long unused sandalwood chop to get him passage into Tsenoble, where he probably alarms his tailor terribly by making an unannounced appearance through the back door. Luckily, the man has Balthier’s new clothes all ready and prepared – he lets Balthier change in the backroom, and is happy enough to have Balthier’s old clothes washed and sent back to Rabanastre.

After that, it’s but a short walk over to Draklor – Balthier finds his feet drag. The building has an oppressive aura, made worse by the guards at the front door.

“Ah, Master Balthier, fancy meeting you all the way up here.” Balthier glances over his shoulder, unsurprised to see Jules wandering up behind him. Never had a problem getting where he wanted to be, has Jules. “Heard your young friends were off running around by themselves, I did,” Jules says. “You ought to be more careful, my young master. Never know who might be watching.” There’s an unpleasant look in his eyes as he says it – Jules _likes_ it here in Archades. He might sleep in the street more often than not, but he rubs shoulders with the elite too, and he never lets them forget it.

“Go and get them for me then,” Balthier says, tossing Jules a handful of chops. “And tell them to be quick about it. Don’t want any _more_ soldiers turning up,” he mutters.

“Got your eye on _Draklor_ have you?” Jules says, and Balthier only restrains his irritation through sheer force of will. Balthier looks back to him; the ugly look is still on Jules face. Uncharitably, Balthier considers the idea that perhaps that simply _is_ Jules’ face. “You’ll be wanting to get inside, will you?”

“Perhaps,” Balthier replies, tightly.

Jules’ face splits into a wide grin. “I’ve heard there’s an airship nearby, one the researchers use. Use it to slip in the service entrance, and they’ll be none the wiser.”

“Hm. And how much does this information cost me?” Balthier asks.

Jules holds up his hands, effacing. “For you, sir? Free of charge.” Balthier hardly believes that. Doubtless Jules will find a way to demand payment later. “I’ll go and see to your, ah, friends now then, shall I?” He doesn’t quite bow as he leaves, but the motion is mocking nonetheless. A reminder of Balthier’s former station here.

Balthier can’t wait to leave.

 

It’s something of a surprise to find Draklor already invaded, but the confusion serves them well. Serves Balthier well – every corridor is a memory revisited. Not all are unpleasant. The old man’s ridiculous doors are still in place, irritating as ever.

“I can see why you were so eager to leave,” Ashe murmurs; one bulkhead closes as another opens, and she makes a vague noise of exasperation.

Balthier snorts. “Would you believe he did this _before_ he became obsessed with nethicite? I grew up thinking it was normal.”

“Ugh, seriously?” Vaan mutters. “That’s kinda-”

“Mm, I know. I realised soon enough.” Balthier stops when Fran holds out her arm.

“Enemies,” Fran whispers, “gathered beyond the door. They set an ambush.”

Basch glances down at their pilfered map. “There is another route-”

“Let me see,” Vaan says, jumping up on his shoulder, and then shakes his head. “No, that route’s no good, see, because we’d get caught between these doors here.” He jabs at the appropriate point. “We’d be better off springing the trap here somehow.”

“If you do not be quiet, the trap _will_ be sprung,” Fran warns, from her position by the door.

Vaan shrugs. “So spring it.”

“He’s right,” Basch says, suddenly. “Well, not entirely-” Vaan squawks. To Balthier’s shame eternal, the noise is not entirely unattractive. “The helmets the guards are wearing give them very poor side vision, so if one of us stands down there,” Basch points to the other end of the corridor, “and the rest of us stay up here, then they’ll see whoever it is down there first. It is likely they will move to intercept them – the ruse will not last long, only a few seconds, but that will be more than long enough for us to cast Blind on as many of them as we can.”

“I’ll be the bait then,” Balthier says, “only fitting for the leading man.”

They look rather ridiculous hunched up by the door, Vaan practically climbing Basch’s shoulders in an effort not to be seen – Balthier gets the switch and swaggers out of the room, making as much a show of it as he can and the guards fairly tumble into the trap turned against them.

Balthier laughs. “Your mistakes were many this day; you sprung your trap blind, always a mistake,” Balthier taps the helmet of the nearest guard as he goes down, “and you thought to snare a hare – well my friends, you’ve caught the fox.”

The last guard falls with little fanfare – as a group, they press onwards.

 

Cid makes his inglorious escape, his last words – “I too make for Giruvegan. Give chase, if you dare it!” – still ringing in Balthier’s ears.

“I hate it when he does that,” Balthier mutters, frowning after him. All this, for nothing more than a lead, and that but a faery tale.

“Mayhaps you think me remiss! The Lady Ashe of Dalmasca?” The other intruder walks forwards, sheathing his swords. “The sky pirate Reddas, at your employ. I do not need your name, m’lady, nor that of the good Captain’s,” he nods in Basch’s direction, “and I would make a poor sky pirate indeed if I did not know Balthier and Fran, but I confess, I am at a loss in regards to the last of your companions.” Reddas turns towards Penelo, offering her his hand. “Miss...?”

She giggles. “I’m Penelo, and this is Vaan.” She tugs Vaan over. “We’re from Rabanastre.”

Reddas nods. “Very good. We had best not remain here – come, I have my ship waiting. We can regroup at Balfonheim.”

“The faster we leave, the better,” Balthier agrees, and they all follow Reddas back through the now largely deserted facility to his ship – in the service entrance, Balthier notes, shaking his head. Jules _has_ been busy.

Reddas’ ship is no _Strahl_ , but she’s more than good enough to outpace the angry Imperials that start chasing them as soon as they rise above the city.

As soon as they have, Reddas glances towards Ashe and says, “You may rest in the aft of the ship, m’lady. We will make Balfonheim before sunset.”

Ashe nods, tiredly; she, Basch and Penelo leave the cockpit, Penelo murmuring something about food. Balthier stays where he is – he may not be _flying_ the ship, but this is almost as good.

After a time, Reddas says, “I must say, ‘tis an honour to fly with sky pirates such as you. You may not often land in Balfonheim, but we mark the stories of Balthier and his viera partner well.”

“She has a name,” Balthier points out. “One might call us Fran and her hume partner instead – as many of our successes are down to her as to me.”

Reddas chuckles. “My apologies! I meant no offence, Fran. The honour is truly mine – I would ask, will you sit with me as navigator?”

Fran’s eyebrows raise, just slightly. For her, it’s a sign of great surprise. “Of course,” she says, rising from her passenger seat and moving to the navigator’s chair.

“You’d better not be stealing my partner,” Balthier murmurs, without any real heat.

“Fear not,” Reddas laughs, “I would not dare try to split this partnership in twain.”

Vaan gets to his feet, stretching. “Hey, Reddas? Can you tell me about your ship?”

“Oh? Do we have a young sky pirate amongst us as well?” Reddas motions for Vaan to come forward. “The _Ravana_ is of Bhujerban design – look here and you can still see her old lines. Two years hence I’ve had her, and she’s served me well. Been refitted more than a few times, but,” Reddas reaches out and places Vaan’s hand on the _Ravana_ ’s controls, “feel how she moves? No airship fresh from Bhujerba’s dockyards will ever move like this.”

Even from this poor angle, Balthier can see the sheer delight on Vaan’s face. In that instant he knows; no-one has ever let Vaan fly an airship before.

“I... I _do_ feel it,” Vaan says, wonder plain in his voice.

Reddas smiles. “You have a talent for it, I see.” He takes back the controls. “You shall make a fine sky pirate one day, Vaan, of that I have no doubt.”

Balthier drags his eyes away. It takes no more than a moment to make a decision; as soon as he can, he’s going to teach Vaan to fly the _Strahl_.

 

“I heard him, you know,” Vaan says, on the way to the Feywood. One of the pirates at Balfonheim had agreed to fly them to the Ozmone Plains, then run a message back to Nono to have the _Strahl_ ready to pick them up. “Reddas, I mean, before we left.”

Balthier feigns ignorance. “Oh, really? Say something interesting did he?”

Vaan laughs. “He called me your apprentice.”

Balthier shakes his head. “Passing strange; there must be something in the air at Balfonheim. Perchance you should get your ears examined, Vaan.”

Vaan pushes Balthier’s shoulder, still laughing. “Balthier!”

“Yes, Vaan?”

“ _Can_ I be your apprentice then?” The question is asked so earnestly it almost catches Balthier off guard.

Even so. “No,” Balthier replies. Vaan hardly seems affected, still grinning as wide as if Balthier had said _yes_. “Stop that,” Balthier says.

“I’m your apprentice,” Vaan says, confidently, leaning back in his chair.

“You can hardly be something I do not have,” Balthier protests.

“Fine, so we’ll ask Fran! Hey, Fran?” Vaan twists in his seat to look at her. “Am I Balthier’s apprentice?”

Fran looks up from her book, glancing between the two of them. She entirely ignores Balthier’s rapidly shaking head and says, “It certainly appears that way.” Vaan starts to cheer. “But,” Fran interrupts, “appearances can be deceiving. Who knows what form your relationship will truly take?” Her eyes crinkle slightly as she looks towards Balthier.

Vaan frowns and slithers back down into his chair. “So... am I or aren’t I?”

“You aren’t,” Balthier assures him. No, if Balthier has his way... Vaan will be something quite different indeed. “Now, weren’t you going to read to me? I seem to recollect a promise made some time ago that sooner or later you’d be the one reading to _me_.”

Vaan’s eyes light up. “Hey, yeah! I have the _perfect_ thing,” he says, reaching down and pulling Balthier’s much abused child’s primer of faery tales out of his belongings.

Balthier has the sudden sneaking suspicion he knows _exactly_ which story Vaan is going to read.

The grin spreading across Vaan’s face is certainly wide enough. He’s careful as he flicks through the pages, almost delicate, and he doesn’t crack the spine when he finds the correct page either. His smile widens still further, his eyes fairly glittering as he clears his throat.

“Now, Vaan-” Balthier starts.

“ _The Sky Pirate and the Runaway Prince_ ,” Vaan intones. Balthier groans. “Once upon a time,” Vaan starts, in a singsong voice _clearly_ meant for children, “there was a sky pirate called _Balthier_ -”

“When I throw you from this airship, they will never find you,” Balthier promises. “There are a thousand places you could land. They could be looking forever and never-”

“Shhh,” Vaan says, pressing a finger to Balthier’s lips, “I’m _reading_.”

Balthier sits down, quietly, and listens to Vaan read about his namesake for the entire rest of the journey. Behind him, Fran is laughing, he’s quite sure of it.

He _never_ should have let her take that book.

 

“I sense something like the shadow here,” Fran says, upon entering Giruvegan.

“Venat,” Balthier murmurs, and if he is bitter then surely he is allowed it. “It appears Cid has yet to arrive. We’ll lie in wait for him here.”

“So we’re not going inside?” Penelo asks.

“Not unless you want to end up twisted. Like the old man,” Balthier replies, glancing back towards the distant spires of Giruvegan proper. Part of him _wanted_ to go deeper inside, yes, find out what the old man had seen there – had there been a cage, perhaps, for his Venat? Had he loosed this monster upon the world? But Balthier was no vainglorious fool like his father or brothers, and he would not chance madness just for... just for answers.

Ashe is also looking towards the depths of Giruvegan, but with a more focused intent. “Something there?” Balthier asks.

She doesn’t reply. After a moment, she merely walks forward.

“What is it?” Penelo asks, quietly.

“She can see him,” Vaan replies. “Let’s follow her.”

“Forgive me for asking,” Balthier starts, as they traipse after Ashe, “but _who_ can she see?”

Vaan looks a little worried and drops even further behind Ashe. His voice is far quieter than normal as he murmurs, “I don’t think I’m really meant to tell you, but... she can see Prince Rasler.”

“Prince _Rasler_?!” Basch exclaims – ahead of them, Ashe pauses, glancing back. Secret’s out. Vaan winces, and Basch says, more quietly, “The Prince is long dead! I carried him from the battlefield myself.”

Vaan shrugs. “I’ve seen him too- or my brother. Back at Raithwall’s Tomb there was something... it was hard to be sure. But she’s seen him more than I have.”

Balthier rubs his forehead. “Perfect. Wandering into a place _known_ to cause insanity, and our Princess is seeing ghosts. I fail to see how this could possibly go wrong.”

Ashe clears her throat. “If you’re _quite_ finished?”

Balthier doesn’t apologise. “You know the way?” he asks. Ashe nods. “Then lead us. I’d hate to wander blindly into madness.”

“Hm. It lacks a certain appeal,” Fran agrees.

“Fine,” Ashe snaps, haughtily, turning on her heel and stalking away.

Balthier catches Vaan’s elbow before he goes any further and leans in to murmur, “ _Tell me_ if you see any more ghosts.”

Vaan looks at him askance for a moment. “Sure? But I haven’t for a while now.” He nods after Ashe. “She’s just seeing Rasler now.”

“Vaan.”

“All right already,” Vaan says, pulling himself free from Balthier’s grip. “If I see anything I’ll tell you.”

Balthier sighs in relief. “That’s all I ask. My thanks.”

Vaan gives him a long look. “Hmph. You’re weird.” He turns and runs after Ashe, falling into stride alongside her. After a moment’s hesitation, Balthier follows.

 

Deeper into Giruvegan, the place becomes... unsettling. The path beneath their feet seems solid enough, but the distant sights are-

Hah. Enough to send one mad.

“Stare too long into the darkness, and the darkness will stare back into you,” Balthier murmurs to himself, peering after the fallen Tyrant.

“Darkness can’t stare at you,” Vaan points out, wandering up behind him.

“No it’s... just something my father used to say. Evidently, he was right.” Balthier leans back, hands on his hips. “I wonder how deep this goes?”

“Deep enough. Wonder what we’ll find at the bottom.”

Balthier huffs. “With our luck? More of those ill-favoured stones.”

“That is what Cid said was here, right? More nethicite.” Vaan peers over the edge again, but there darkness is complete. No hint of how far it goes. “You think he was lying?”

“Hard to say.” Balthier turns away. “He was a good liar, even before he met Venat. But there seems little doubt that he came here once, six years ago – that here was where he _met_ Venat. Even if he lied about the nethicite, we may yet learn of some other secret he’d rather us not know.”

Vaan rocks on his heels. “Only one way to find out!” He bounds over to the waystone. “Hurry it up, or we’ll leave you behind!”

“Impatient, aren’t you?” Balthier says, striding over. Everyone else gathers around the stone as well and Vaan activates it. When the light clears, they’re in a place quite different indeed. Though the darkness has cleared, it’s been replaced with a truly alarming amount of Mist – Balthier looks at Fran, a question in his eyes.

Fran shakes her head, and Balthier relaxes somewhat.

“Which way, Princess?” Basch asks Ashe.

She looks around – her eyes catch on something none of the rest of them can see. “That way.” She steps forwards towards a ledge and a path appears suddenly before her.

 _Something_ definitely wants her to be here.

As they clear out a group of ose – the holy land sleeps! Balthier wonders, of what does it dream? This many monsters can only mean nightmares – Penelo leans over towards Vaan and says, “It’s kind of creepy down here, isn’t it?”

Vaan spins his dagger, flicking the blood off of it. “I like it.”

Penelo huffs. “You would.”

“Mm, it’s like I said earlier – it’s exciting! We’re probably the first people to be down here in years. At _least_ since Doctor Cid. Stuff like this? It’s what being a sky pirate is all about.” Vaan sheathes his dagger.

“Certainly a unique view on the subject,” Balthier interjects. “Most pirates I know would suggest it involves rather more thievery than you’ve just intimated – but then, I forget. I am speaking to a master of the subject.” He squeezes Vaan’s shoulder.

“Uh, _hey_!” Vaan protests. “I’m not that bad!”

“He didn’t say you _were_ , Vaan,” Penelo says. “He said you were good. Right, Balthier?” Her eyes flick between Balthier’s hand, still on Vaan’s shoulder, and Balthier’s face. Realisation dawns on her face, and an expression not unlike one Balthier’s seen on Fran appears moments after.

“Quite so,” Balthier agrees.

Vaan starts to say something, but Basch calls from further ahead, “Take care not to fall behind! The Lady Ashe has spied another waystone,” and their conversation is cut short.

 

“So there _is_ nethicite here,” Vaan says, staring at the frankly obscene crystal.

Dry mouthed, Balthier says, “It would appear so.”

Behind them, Ashe says, “With that much nethicite in one’s grasp-”

“You could destroy all of Ivalice, if you wished it,” Fran points out.

“Charming thought,” Balthier mutters. _Exactly_ the sort of idea the old man would have, in all likelihood, and if not him then surely _Vayne_ -

“Okay,” Vaan says, “ _now_ I think this place is creepy. I mean, what if that thing explodes?”

“We’d all die,” Balthier says, “but we wouldn’t know about it for very long.”

“It is unlikely to occur,” Fran says. “The Mist is cool here – as I will behave myself, so too will the nethicite.”

Basch clears his throat. “It is better not to think of such things. Keep your minds focused on the task ahead.”

Another path forms under Ashe’s feet, and the waystone at the end of it leads them to darkened, still Mist filled corridors. She opens the door ahead; no sooner have they all passed through it than an Esper drops from the ceiling.

“An Esper? Here?!” Ashe cries, in alarm.

“Why not? We needed that Esper of yours to get here!” Balthier replies, and then there is little time left for conversation.

The scion falls eventually, body fading to Mist and leaving its Glyph hanging in the air.

Ashe starts forward. “I will take-”

But Balthier recalls Fran’s distant expression when she spoke of Adrammelech, the difficulty she’d had in describing it and- “ _I_ will take it, thank you,” he interrupts, reaching past Ashe. His fingers brush the Glyph’s shell and it shatters.

Ashe looks fit to round on him, but Balthier pays her little mind, focusing instead on the Esper as its mark settles on his skin. He can feel it, like an intimate caress; more than a mother, less than a lover. The Glyph slips between his shoulder blades, the highest point of it just touching his neck. Balthier must make a noise, as Ashe steps back, a strange look on her face.

“What-”

“You feel it?” Fran asks. Her hand moves unerringly to where Shemhazai’s Glyph lies, hidden beneath Balthier’s clothes and skin.

“I feel it,” Balthier confirms. He rolls his shoulders. “Not a pleasant sensation, that.”

“You seemed eager for it before,” Ashe says, brittle-voiced.

Balthier laughs mirthlessly. “Hardly that.”

Fran does not explain. She lifts her hand from the Glyph and says, “You seem well suited. Better than he and I.” She raises her shoulder briefly.

“It is done,” Basch says. “Let us move forward.”

“Race you to the waystone!” Penelo says, bolting past, Vaan hot on her heels.

 

“I _dare_ you to touch it,” Vaan whispers to Penelo, pointing to one of the strange figures.

“Nope. No way,” Penelo whispers urgently back. “I dare _you_ to touch it.”

“Okay-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Balthier calls over his shoulder. “Those things are like to be the Occuria’s bodies or somesuch, and I doubt very much that they’d appreciate your sticky fingers all over it.”

Vaan steps back from the ledge. “My fingers aren’t sticky.” He glances down at his hands. “Are they?”

“Vaan! Penelo! We’re leaving,” Basch calls, and they dart over to join the group on what _appears_ to be a waystone built into the floor. It activates when Ashe brandishes her new Treaty Blade, taking them back to the waystone past Shemhazai’s room – the word _prison_ springs to mind, uncomfortably, in a voice not quite Balthier’s own.

“In tower on distant shore dreams the Sun-Cryst,” quotes Basch. “Do these words mean aught to you?

Fran shakes her head, at a loss for once.

“Didn’t Reddas say he was going to follow some ‘other course’? Maybe he found out something that can help,” Vaan suggests.

“I’d rather stay out of that sky pirate’s debt, thank you,” Balthier murmurs.

“What’s wrong with Reddas? I mean, if you can’t trust your own kind, who can you trust?” Vaan asks, folding his arms.

There are a thousand and one things Balthier could say in response to that. He settles for, “You’re an expert on pirating now, are you?”

“Regardless,” Basch interrupts, “it is all the lead we have. Let us make for Balfonheim.”

 

“That skystone will fit,” Balthier says, “but the stone in the _Strahl_ is... shall we say _adjusted_ , somewhat.” Basch makes a disapproving face. “While Nono adjusts this new one, perhaps we might stay a while in Balfonheim – I can see how eager you are to press onwards, Princess, but the Sun-Cryst isn’t going anywhere. And, before you say anything, _if_ this Venat is truly a heretic Occuria as well, it can lead Cid and Vayne and whoever else it may choose to the Cryst whenever it pleases – that it hasn’t _yet_ suggests it will not.”

Ashe stills. “You speak the truth again. Reddas, your pirates... they will not mind?”

Reddas laughs. “Mind? Hah, m’lady, they would fain see you dally here a time. Tell stories, make merry! There is little a pirate loves so much as a good tale, and I’ll warrant you have more than a few to tell.”

“Good place to pick up any rumours too,” Vaan says. “ _If_ you can get any pirate to part with ‘em.”

Reddas’ eyes glitter when he looks at Vaan. “You learn your trade well, Vaan. Here, I will tell you something I have learned.” He motions Vaan over and murmurs something to him, far too softly for Balthier to hear.

Vaan looks surprised to hear whatever it is. “Really?”

“Aye, really,” Reddas confirms, sly smirk splitting his face.

“Huh. Thanks, Reddas.” They’re the same words Vaan once said to Balthier... can it only have been months ago?

“No thanks are needed for this, my young sky pirate. Now, m’lady,” Reddas turns towards Ashe again, “I insist you dine with me and mine tonight.” He starts to guide her away. Basch follows.

Balthier ignores Ashe’s response; Vaan’s frowning. Balthier moves closer. “Well? Did he have anything interesting to say?”

Vaan looks up, his expression clearing. “Maybe. I guess I’ll find out.” He spins around. “Hey, Penelo! Let’s go get something to eat!”

“Ah- ugh.” Balthier folds his arms as the pair run off, disappearing into the crowd.

Fran walks up to Balthier’s shoulder. “He knows,” she says.

“Don’t be foolish, how can he possibly-” Balthier stops. “ _Reddas_.”

“Only in part,” Fran says. “You’ve let your eyes betray your heart. Again.”

“Fran, please.”

She taps his nose. “When next you see him, remember to speak with him.” That said she meanders away, leaving Balthier alone in the aerodrome.

 

After dinner at Reddas’ manse – exquisite, Balthier’s forced to admit – Vaan and Penelo proudly reveal the efforts of their day. The produce between them handwritten notes, each carefully scribed, of such rumours they’ve heard throughout the day.

“Of course,” Penelo says, “the most impressive thing here is Vaan’s handwriting.”

“Sh-shup up, Penelo!” Vaan shouts, pushing her playfully. “ _Anyway_ , so I found out that the Kiltias on Mt Bur-Omisace are having a memorial for the Gran Kiltias and... well, we thought it might be a good idea to pay our respects. Oh, and apparently people have been hearing some weird noises coming from the sewers in Rabanastre.” Vaan pushes forward the appropriate pieces of paper.

“She’s right you know,” Balthier says, picking one up, “your handwriting _has_ improved.”

“See, I told you!” Penelo says, sticking her tongue out at Vaan. “And _I_ found out much more interesting things – viera have been seeing a giant tree in the Mosphoran Highwastes.” Fran pricks her ears at that. “Oh and... scavengers have been going missing in the Barheim Passage. According to the bangaa I spoke to, anyone who wanders too close to the No. 7 Terminus disappears.”

“Espers, almost certainly,” Fran says.

“Aye,” Basch agrees, “and I dislike the idea of anything lurking beneath Rabanastre for too long. Perhaps we might put off our quest for the Sun-Cryst a few more days, that we might seek out these Espers and ensure Rabanastre’s safety?”

Ashe looks up from her folded hands. “Yes,” she says. “But... I would see the Kiltias first, and pay my respects. Reddas, will you accompany us?”

He looks considering for a moment, then nods decisively. “Yes, I think so. I too must pay my respects to the fallen – ah, but tarry a day longer here in Balfonheim. We have a shipment of weapons due in on the evening tide, and some may suit you well.”

They talk a while longer, before Ashe declares she’s retiring. That seems to be a signal for all to leave; Balthier rises to his feet but does not hurry to leave. Vaan stays behind a while longer, still talking animatedly with Rikken, but Balthier is content enough to wait. Still, it is some time before Vaan finally wanders down the manse’s steps.

“Finally,” Balthier says, “I was beginning to wonder if you’d passed out in one of the potted plants.”

Vaan jumps. “Balthier? I thought you’d gone without me.”

“I was waiting for you. Come along.” Balthier starts to walk back to the aerodrome.

Vaan falls in beside him. “Where are we going?

“To the _Strahl_. Where else? Unless you have lodgings elsewhere?” Balthier inquires.

“Huh? Oh well... me and Penelo are sharing a room at the inn, but if you’re offering...?” Vaan shrugs. “The _Strahl_ ’s beds are probably more comfortable anyway.”

“Whichever suits. Either way, see me tomorrow morning on the _Strahl_ – I’ll have breakfast waiting.”

Vaan doesn’t break away to return to Penelo’s side; Balthier cannot deny the small surge of satisfaction that brings him.

They walk in companionable silence back to the aerodrome, until Vaan says, “Hey, Balthier?” Balthier turns to look at him. “Reddas said something earlier....” Vaan bites his lip, and appears to reconsider. “Nah, it doesn’t matter. I’ll see you in the morning.” He runs past Balthier and boards the _Strahl_.

“Good talk,” Balthier mutters, dryly.

 

Vaan’s somewhat skittish at breakfast, and only becomes moreso when Fran reveals that she is going out today.

“Please tell Penelo that we’ve found Vaan,” Balthier asks Fran, as she’s leaving; Fran almost laughs at him. Balthier rounds on Vaan. “Now, calm yourself. You’re no good to me as nervous an untried chocobo before his first race.”

“Well, maybe I wouldn’t _be_ nervous if you’d tell me what this was all about!” Vaan all but shouts, jumping to his feet.

Balthier sighs in aggravation. “I’m teaching you how to _fly_ , Vaan. Unless you’d rather I didn’t?”

“W-wait, what? You’re,” Vaan’s whole face lights up, “you’re going to teach me how to _fly_?”

“That _was_ the plan,” Balthier says, “but you seemed so nervous-”

Vaan grabs Balthier’s arm with a surprising amount of strength. “Teach me,” he says, painfully earnest.

“Oh. Fine.” Balthier smiles. “I suppose I could do that.”

Five minutes in the air and it becomes apparent this isn’t working. Balthier says as much. “You can’t learn leaning over _my_ shoulder and I can’t teach leaning over _your_ shoulder – Vaan, up.”

Vaan regretfully gets out of the pilot seat. His hands linger on the _Strahl_ ’s controls. It’s a feeling Balthier’s well familiar with. He stands awkwardly beside the pilot seat as Balthier takes his place, then squawks when Balthier abruptly yanks him into his lap. The noise, Balthier notes, is still lamentably attractive.

“Much better,” Balthier says, approvingly, peering over Vaan’s shoulder. He reaches past Vaan to take the _Strahl_ ’s controls. “Now, watch-”

“How is _this_ better-” Vaan starts, squirming distractingly in Balthier’s lap. He stops and places his hands over Balthier’s on the controls. “Hey, can I?”

“Yes,” Balthier agrees, relinquishing them almost before the word is out of his mouth; Vaan’s hands slip under his on the control sticks, careful. “She’s capricious,” Balthier warns, “too harsh a hand and she’ll stall, too gentle and...”

“Yeah,” Vaan breathes. He pushes forwards _just_ enough and-

For a while, Balthier can almost forget that he’s pressed chest to back with Vaan. For a while, all either of them think of is flying; the clouds part for the _Strahl_. She spins and dips and twirls through them, up and over sea and land. Reddas was right. Vaan _does_ have a talent for this.

They fly until the sun starts to set.

And then-

“Correct it there,” Balthier murmurs, and he hardly notices that he’s leaning full against Vaan’s shoulder now.

“What? I don’t need to-” Vaan protests, turning his head. He stops mid-sentence, and the tension in the cockpit is suddenly Mist-thick. Vaan’s eyes are hungry, dark, and Balthier _wants_ -

It’s but the work of a moment to capture Vaan’s lips. Vaan’s mouth opens beneath his, though whether to protest or to welcome Balthier cannot say; he licks inside and steals Vaan’s words, steals Vaan’s breath – thinks back to that first night they met, when he’d said, _and then when I take it from you, it’ll be mine_. And what had he ended up taking that night? Vaan and nethicite both, though he’d had little recourse at the time.

Not a decision Balthier’s come to regret, in all honesty.

He has to stop kissing Vaan eventually; the _Strahl_ ’s started to drift off course, and this close to Archadian territory that’s never a good thing. Vaan blinks, dazedly, lips still slightly parted.

“Tempting,” Balthier says, “but not until we land, please.”

“Huh?” Vaan blinks again, still staring at Balthier. His eyes slowly clear. Balthier can tell the very moment Vaan starts thinking again; his eyes sharpen abruptly and he crows, “Reddas was _right_!”

Balthier groans. “Yes, fine, I admit it. You _are_ my apprentice.”

Vaan bursts out laughing. “Hey, can I land her? You didn’t show me how to land her yet.”

“Hm? Yes, I suppose you’d better – don’t need you wrecking her your first time out,” Balthier replies. Vaan’s hands are greedy on the _Strahl_ ’s controls, but he guides her deftly enough back to Balfonheim aerodrome. “Now,” Balthier murmurs, and perhaps it’s unfair of him to lean in quite so close to Vaan’s ear, “the most important thing about landings is to keep her steady. Here in an aerodrome, there’s no telling what you could hit if you made a sudden movement. Just hover, nice and steady, there you are... and as soon as you’re down, power down the glossair rings.”

Vaan shivers and does as Balthier says. He releases his grip on the controls and leans back against Balthier; Balthier slides an arm around Vaan’s waist, as Vaan asks, “What now?”

“That is entirely up to you,” Balthier says. “I know very much what _I_ would like to do,” and Vaan cannot possibly fail to miss the implication there, “but....” Balthier shrugs. “The choice is yours.”

Vaan gets out of Balthier’s lap. “I think,” he starts, licking his kiss-reddened lips, “I’d like to know what it is you want to do.” Vaan holds out his hand.

After only the briefest moment of hesitation, Balthier takes it. Standing up, he lifts Vaan’s hand to his lips and asks, “Vaan, may I please take you to bed?”

 

“How does this even-” Vaan growls, tugging at Balthier’s vest. He drops his hands to Balthier’s waist, pouting. “Take it off.”

Balthier chuckles, nudging Vaan backwards until the back of his knees hit the bed and he topples over. “Did no-one ever teach you the benefits of _patience_?”

Vaan just glares up at him, mutinous. “I want to see.”

“You will,” Balthier promises, kneeling over him, finally getting his hands on Vaan’s bare chest. “Just not yet.” Vaan’s ridiculous metal vest is easily pushed off his shoulders, and Balthier leans down to kiss Vaan’s jaw.

Vaan moans, loud and drawn out, body surging up against Balthier’s. He’s wide-eyed when Balthier looks up, panting already. “Oh,” Vaan says, and then, “ _unfair_ , come on take it off-”

“In time,” Balthier says, cupping the back of Vaan’s neck and pulling him up for a proper kiss. Vaan wraps his arms around Balthier’s shoulders, moaning, his legs tangling around Balthier’s. One of Vaan’s gauntleted hands slides through Balthier’s hair – the rings catch and Balthier winces, breaking the kiss and murmuring, “Careful.” He pulls Vaan’s hand down and carefully removes the gauntlet, dropping it on his bedside table. Vaan’s hand still in grasp, he raises it again to his lips; Vaan’s eyes _burn_ as Balthier’s lips brush the palm of his hand, his pulse racing as fast as any dreamhare’s.

“B-Balthier,” Vaan stutters. His hand turns in Balthier’s, fingers pressing against Balthier’s lips – like and unlike Balthier’s earlier fantasies. As soon as Balthier opens his mouth, Vaan pushes his fingers inside. Balthier flicks his tongue over Vaan’s fingertips; the whimper that falls from Vaan’s lips is more than Balthier could have imagined. Vaan presses his fingers more firmly against Balthier’s tongue, thumb sliding messily over Balthier’s lips – Balthier can only imagine what he looks like. “Balthier, _please_ ,” Vaan whines.

Balthier lets Vaan’s fingers slip from his mouth. “Please what, Vaan?”

Vaan wriggles beneath Balthier, chest heaving. He lays his hands on Balthier’s chest, one wet and bare, one still clad in its gauntlet and says, “More.”

“Hm. How can I refuse such an eloquent request?” Balthier murmurs, unbuckling Vaan’s other gauntlet and placing it with its match, then rising to take off Vaan’s boots and his own sandals. Vaan sits up to start helping, clever fingers deftly untying the sash around his waist and baring a strikingly pale strip of skin; Balthier’s mouth goes dry just looking at it.

“It _has_ to be your turn now,” Vaan says, folding his arms over his chest.

“I suppose it must,” Balthier agrees.

Vaan watches greedily as he undoes the clasps on his vest and hangs it up, pausing in his examination only to mutter, “Wait, you have a wardrobe full of those things?”

“Did you think I wore the same one all the time?” Balthier asks, taking his shirt off. “A good pirate always knows an equally good tailor, Vaan. Remember that.” He undoes the belts holding his pouches up, loops them around the back of his chair as usual, and leans down to take off his shin pads. He can feel Vaan’s eyes on him as he bends over. Straightening up, Balthier asks, “Enjoying yourself?”

Vaan, leaning back on his hands, grins at Balthier. “Yes,” he says. He spreads his legs. It’s as blatant an invitation as any Balthier’s ever seen, and one Balthier gladly accepts; he slides one knee between Vaan’s legs and one outside, straddling Vaan’s thigh.

Vaan’s breaths come faster as Balthier leans down to kiss him; Balthier has to murmur, “Relax,” against Vaan’s waiting lips.

Vaan’s hands sweep across Balthier’s back. His fingers follow the knobs of Balthier’s spine, unknowingly following the lines of Shemhazai’s Glyph – though his is a far more pleasant touch than the Esper’s was. Balthier grinds down against Vaan’s thigh and- _yes_ , there it is, Vaan gasps, pulling back wide-eyed.

“You’re- _oh_.” Vaan’s hands slide down to Balthier’s hips, fingers trembling. He licks his lips. “Do you want-”

“Only as much as you’re willing to give,” Balthier says. “If at any point you’d like to stop, say as much and we will.”

Vaan huffs, leaning forwards to peck Balthier on the lips. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before,” he mutters. “I know how this works.”

Balthier hums absently, petting Vaan’s stomach. “But not with me, you haven’t,” he points out. “Rather than I teaching you, we shall both learn together.” He ducks forward, lips brushing Vaan’s jaw. “Does that suit?”

Vaan shivers once, all over, and Balthier shall have to make a mark of that. “Yeah,” Vaan says. He shifts one hand to the back of Balthier’s left thigh, and pulls his knee forward until it’s nestled tight between Vaan’s legs. “It suits.”

Balthier smirks against Vaan’s skin. He kisses Vaan’s jaw, along to the shell of his ear, hands skimming the waist of Vaan’s trousers. Vaan moans, guttural, hand still holding Balthier’s leg in place so he can rock slightly against it; Vaan’s hot and hard, even through his trousers, and Balthier finds himself leaning eagerly into the touch.

A whimper escapes Vaan when Balthier’s hands slip beneath his trousers; abruptly he’s shoving Balthier away, twisting out from beneath him, fiery eyed. “I- I gotta take these off,” Vaan pants, shoving at his trousers, and via dint of a sinuous hip motion that many a dancer would happily murder for, he does. He all but throws them off the side of the bed in his haste to get his hands back on Balthier.

Balthier drinks in the sight of Vaan’s newly bared skin as a man in the desert drinks from an oasis – oh to be fair, Vaan has hardly made himself a secret, but this is different. As Vaan greedily places his hands back on Balthier’s chest, Balthier cannot help doing the same with Vaan’s legs. Paler than his chest, firmly muscled; Balthier pulls one around his waist as he leans over Vaan.

“Pretty as a picture,” Balthier murmurs, letting Vaan tug his knee back where he wants it.

“I’m gonna get your clothes dirty,” Vaan mumbles. He almost sounds contrite.

“I find I do not care in the least,” Balthier replies, grinding his leg down. Vaan makes a breathless, hitching cry, arching up against Balthier’s leg and clings to Balthier’s shoulder; the noise goes straight to Balthier’s erection. “Dirty them as you see fit.”

Vaan bites his lip, eyelashes fluttering, and groans, “This would be so much easier if you’d just take them _off_.” He yanks at Balthier’s trousers.

“Ask me politely,” Balthier teases.

Vaan yanks him down, voice harsh and urgent in his ear, “Take them off, _please_ ,” he says, and then he takes Balthier’s earring in his teeth and tugs it gently and- _oh_. Balthier finds himself gasping, pulling Vaan up against him suddenly _aching_ for touch-

“ _Yes_ ,” Balthier moans, almost regretting it when Vaan releases his earring – he takes a moment to compose himself while putting his trousers aside for laundry. It’s rather hard to do with Vaan splayed across his bed, naked and waiting and wanting.

As soon as Balthier comes back, Vaan wraps his legs around Balthier’s hips, hauling him down for skin-to-skin contact – they shudder and moan in unison. Vaan slips a hand between them, overeager, and Balthier trembles again as Vaan touches them both. He rests his head briefly against Vaan’s shoulder, then murmurs, “Come here,” and catches Vaan’s hand and brings it to his lips.

It takes Vaan only a second to realise, and his eyes go dark and darker still as Balthier licks and laves the palm of his hand. His fingers curl slightly, and Balthier smiles. “Ticklish?” he asks.

“ _No_ ,” Vaan insists, snatching his hand back and pushing it back between their bodies. Even with only spit to ease the way, his hand slides easily against their erections.

Balthier leans forward again, and he wants to _ask_ \- but in the end he doesn’t have to. Vaan reaches forward and catches his earring again, pulling it sharply with his teeth. Balthier groans, squeezing Vaan’s hip as he thrusts against Vaan’s erection. Vaan whimpers, high and loud in Balthier’s in ear – such _maddening_ noises he makes – and his hand squeezes around them both. “You like it,” he whispers, dropping Balthier’s earring for a moment, “you _really_ like it-”

“Don’t you _dare_ stop,” Balthier replies, sucking a mark onto Vaan’s jaw where _he_ likes it – instantly he’s rewarded with another of Vaan’s noises, and Vaan turning his attention to Balthier’s other earrings.

“Touch me,” Vaan asks, and Balthier feels he has never moved so fast in his life; his hand covers Vaan’s, as it had when they flew the _Strahl_ and that memory sends a thrill through Balthier. Nothing like it. He presses kiss after kiss to Vaan’s jaw and throat – there will be little doubt of _what_ they’ve been doing in the morning – and Vaan arches up against him, shuddering, and takes Balthier’s earring between his teeth again and that is enough-

Balthier has enough of his faculties left to him not to collapse onto Vaan; he rolls off of him instead, flopping boneless onto his bedcovers. Vaan turns his head to grin at him. “Wow.”

Balthier doesn’t know what he was expecting. Propping himself up on one elbow, he says, “‘Wow’? Your eloquence continues to astound.”

“Sh-shut up, Balthier!” Vaan mutters, ears going red. It’s a very fetching look on him.

Balthier smiles and leans over to kiss Vaan gently. “Thank you,” he says, sincerely, “for a lovely evening.”

The entire rest of Vaan’s face goes red at that. His eyes flick away from Balthier’s. “It- I- you’re really weird, you know that, Balthier?”

“Hm, I believe it has been mentioned.” Balthier reaches out to pet Vaan’s chest, then gets off the bed. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” He holds out his hand to Vaan.

Vaan grins, and takes it.

 

Fran meets them for breakfast the next morning; that is, she knocks on the galley door and asks, “You are decent?”

While Vaan chokes, Balthier replies, “Perfectly decent, Fran,” and then assures Vaan that she’s seen everything there is to see anyway.

“Really?” Vaan asks, with some surprise.

“Unavoidable on a ship this size,” Balthier says. “She doesn’t particularly mind, do you, Fran?”

Fran lifts one shoulder. “Humes are much the same, clothed or unclothed.”

“Huh.”

The others are eating with Reddas again. Penelo has a knowing look in her eyes when Vaan enters, though she doesn’t say anything to him when he greets her.

Fran leans down and murmurs to Balthier, “She wishes for me to tell you, if you harm him in any way, she will know.”

Balthier smiles, delightedly. “I presume bodily harm is included within that promise?”

“The implication was there,” Fran agrees.

Basch is squinting at Vaan’s neck, Balthier notices. “Vaan,” Basch asks, “where were you and Balthier yesterday? The fens? You know you ought not traipse around such places without a proper repellent for insects.”

Silence falls at the breakfast table – even Reddas and Ashe’s discussion pauses as they turn incredulous eyes towards Basch. Vaan’s eyes widen as his hand goes to his throat, still freshly decorated with marks from yesterday. Balthier groans, raising a hand to his forehead.

“Basch-” Penelo starts.

A beatific smile spreads across Vaan’s face and he looks towards Balthier. “Hey, Balthier? He called you an _insect_ -”

As Basch starts to splutter and turn red, Balthier stalks down the stairs to Vaan’s chair. He catches Vaan’s chin and kisses him mid-laugh, quick and sharp. “In case there are any other doubts about the source of these,” Balthier says, swiping a hand over the bite mark on Vaan’s jaw.

“Hah!” Reddas claps. “And past time for it, by my reckoning.”

Ashe clears her throat. “ _Anyway_ , now that we’re all here perhaps we can discuss our plans.”

“We’re still seeing the Kiltias first, right?” Vaan asks. At Ashe’s nod, he looks up at Balthier and asks, “Can I fly-”

“ _Part_ of the way, Vaan,” Balthier says.

Basch looks surprised. “You can fly the _Strahl_?”

“Yeah? What did you think we were doing yesterday?” Vaan asks. At the way the good captain’s face colours, Balthier can hazard a guess. Vaan must see the same thing – he starts laughing again, and explains, “Balthier was teaching me to fly her all day! We only-”

“Vaan,” Balthier interrupts.

Vaan stops midsentence. “Well uh. Yeah, so I can fly the _Strahl_ now.”

“I would investigate this tree that appears only to viera after,” Fran says, “and then on to Rabanastre.”

“That sounds fine to me,” Penelo says, rocking in her seat and nudging Vaan with her elbow.

“Excellent,” Reddas says, getting to his feet. “I trust the _Strahl_ is fully supplied?”

“She’s ready to leave as soon as we are,” Balthier agrees.

 

What begins as a brief trip to Mt Bur-Omisace quickly becomes far longer when Vaan wanders over after speaking with an acolyte and says, “So, uh, he gave me this,” and holds out a carved piece of magicite. “He said something’s bound in the Stilshrine, too.”

“My, my,” Reddas says, examining the magicite, “you do have a nose for trouble, my young friend. Perchance we should not let you out of our sight again, lest you stumble across even more?”

It _is_ trouble – an Esper hidden in the shrine, bitter and corrupted. Shemhazai’s Glyph crawls on Balthier’s back, trembling whenever the scion looks at him. He doesn’t summon her, though Ashe and Basch call upon their Espers.

When the thing finally falls, screeching denial, Ashe steps forward as she had in Giruvegan. She pauses, looking towards Reddas. “Would you...?”

Reddas shakes his head. “Nay, my lady. These creatures have the stink of nethicite about them; I would not touch them willingly.”

It’s not an answer that pleases Ashe, that much is obvious. Still, she shatters the Esper’s crystal, names it _Zeromus_ , and presses her hand absently to her thigh. It lies hidden for now – Belias’ has scarred her arm white with the number of times she’s summoned it. The price she pays for power.

“Let us pay our respects now,” Basch says, taking Ashe’s hand, “and then we make for the Highwastes.”

 

Fran takes the Esper. “He is not of the Wood,” she says, placing her hand over her hip, “as I am not. We can neither of us hear her call us now – his ears are shuttered, and mine wish to hear a different voice. But he is tree, and I am viera still, and that is enough.”

“Do you like him?” Balthier asks.

Fran tilts her head in consideration. “He... is not unpleasant,” and that is all she will say on the matter.

 

They moor the _Strahl_ in the Mosphoran Highwastes for the night. Battling two Espers in one day is enough to tire even the most hardened warrior, and Balthier makes no claim to being that. Ashe’s leg seems to be bothering her and she retires early.

“Like to be that creature,” Reddas comments, and Balthier’s inclined to agree. Fran maintains that he and Shemhazai are well suited, and though he’s summoned her only twice, he’s felt nothing to contradict that. Ashe and her new Zeromus... are perhaps _less_ well suited. “Powerful allies they may be, if bent to your will, but I fear what should happen if those bonds should break.”

“I do not know of a power that could do such a thing,” Fran says. “Occuria forged chains do not break easily, I think.”

“Hah, I hope you are right. ‘twould be a fine mess indeed were these scions to break their shackles on the eve of battle.” Reddas rubs a hand over his head.

“There is no key, nor lock to free them,” Fran murmurs. “They are prisoners bound, undying. Eternal.”

Reddas bares his teeth. “If there is one thing I have learned, my lady, it is that there is always a key to free any prisoner – you know this yourself. I have heard of how Captain Basch escaped.”

The Glyph on Balthier’s back itches. “Let us not give them any ideas,” he says. “We bind with them, foolhardy though it may be. Tomorrow, we may yet face another. It seems no matter which way we turn, an Esper comes hurrying out to greet us.”

“Hm. It is as I said for the nethicite – the best use for these scions is to throw them aside.” Reddas looks displeased; he pushes away from the wall and disappears down towards the galley.

“He is grieved,” Fran murmurs. “And grieving. What saw he in Nabudis?”

Balthier squeezes her shoulder. “Not ours to know, Fran. Come, let’s turn to lighter things. If I recall, Vaan was going to teach Penelo how to navigate.”

A look of surprise flits across Fran’s face. “On a ship at rest?”

“Yes,” Balthier says with a smile, “it should prove quite entertaining.”

 

Basch leads them to the few Resistance members still within Rabanastre. They look surprised both to see him, and to see the company their Princess is keeping.

“My lady As- Amalia,” one starts, striding forward, “we had heard you yet lived, but did not dream to see you again within the city.”

Ashe takes his hand, shaking her head. “You need not fear – I am amongst friends. These are the sky pirates, Balthier, Fran, and Reddas, and Vaan and Penelo are of Rabanastre.” There is something fond in her eyes – she lived with these men for two years. Ate with them, trained with them; small wonder she cares for them. “We come seeking your aid-”

“There’s something in the sewers,” Vaan interrupts, ignoring the way Ashe’s soldiers glare at him. “Isn’t there?”

The oldest man sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Aye,” he says. “How came you by this knowledge? We had not thought it spread beyond Rabanastre’s walls.”

Reddas chuckles. “You underestimate the ears of sky pirates, my friend.”

That garners them a nod. The man, evidently the leader of this last remaining group, looks towards Ashe once more. “Whatever manner of creature it is spreads its foul taint even now – twenty men have gone down there, and all have returned wasting and sickened. It does not kill them, though they beg for it, and none of such medicines we can beg have done these men any good. But there is worse news yet, Princess.” The man closes his eyes. “It... is in the water. We did not notice at first; people drew water up in Lowtown, and a few days hence they would sicken, taken by the same thing that claimed our men.”

Ashe’s hand flies to her mouth. “No- how far has it spread? How many have fallen ill?”

“Our twenty men, and at least two dozen others,” the man says. “It may be more. Since the plague came, people are more reluctant to speak of illness, and... it takes time to appear.”

A pained expression on his face, Basch asks, “And the Imperials? Do they know of this?”

One of the other Resistance members spits. “Aye, they know. Know and do nothing, save to divert water from Nalbina to wet their own thirsty throats. They even deny us medicine – medicine for _children_! They have no honour, and no shame either.”

Stricken, Ashe raises a hand to her breast. “Then we have no choice. You will guide us to this creature, and we will put a stop to it.”

They protest of course – why should a band of seven succeed where thirty have failed? Why should their Princess risk _herself_ -

“Why shouldn’t I?” Ashe snaps. “What good am I if I fight for Dalmasca yet still cannot save my people? Would you have me hide and wait, drink only untainted water as the Imperials do while all my family sicken and die around me?”

“No,” Basch says, when everyone falls silent, “we will enter the waterway, and we will put a stop to this at the source.”

“Wonderful,” Balthier mutters, “more traipsing through the sewers. Let’s hope there isn’t a dungeon waiting for us at the end of them this time, shall we?”

 

They find another Esper sitting, bloated with effluent, in the No. 1 Cloaca. Its feet trail in the water, leaving tainted, dark slicks floating on its surface; it’s smiling.

Ashe falls on it with a fury Balthier’s rarely seen before. He has to yank Vaan out of her way more than once, eventually just grabbing him and Penelo and whispering, “Let’s just leave it to her, shall we?”

Ashe sinks her Treaty-Blade into the Esper’s grotesque stomach, seemingly uncaring of the filth that spews out with every cut she makes – the smile on the thing’s face wavers and finally begins to fade.

“It weakens!” Basch shouts, brandishing the Sword of Kings. “Now, Majesty!”

Ashe starts to summon, not her familiar Belias but the new Zeromus. Balthier hears her whisper, furious, “You _will_ listen,” and then the scion comes. The shot it launches from its claw-like arm rips into the other Esper, but both creatures wail, horrible burbling cries that hurt to listen to.

On Balthier’s back, Shemhazai’s Glyph _aches_.

When the Esper falls, Vaan leans over and asks, “Do you think we’re just going to leave it?”

Balthier shrugs. He has no desire to take it, and he doubts anyone else does either. “Perhaps.”

“I wonder what would happen if we did,” Penelo murmurs. “You think it would just come back?” She looks troubled.

“Possibly,” Balthier says. That... would be very bad, he thinks.

Ashe moves forward- no, staggers forward. She’s limping, one hand over her thigh. Basch hurries over to help her, one hand under her elbow. She does not push him away.

“You are sure?” Basch asks, voice rough.

“I am,” Ashe says, as she shatters the crystal holding the Esper’s Glyph.

When they leave the sewers, she bears the Glyph of Cúchulainn on her lower back.

 

There’s no question of continuing on to Barheim Passage that day – Basch and Ashe return with the Resistance to their base in Lowtown, while Penelo murmurs something about visiting Migelo. She disappears down an alley and is gone in moments.

Vaan nudges Balthier’s side and says, “Wanna go flying?”

Balthier smiles. “Of course.” He glances towards Fran. “You don’t mind?”

Fran’s ears twitch. “I do not.” She smiles. “Do not stay out too late.”

“I’ll have him home in time for dinner!” Vaan promises, before grabbing Balthier’s hand and dragging him off to the aerodrome.

Fran _waves_ after them.

“Unbelievable,” Balthier mutters.

 

The Barheim Passage turns out to be _infested_ with corpses; like to be the missing scavengers, Balthier thinks. It’s a long and draining slog through skeletons – Balthier’s covered in corpse dust before they’ve gone forty feet. Vaan and Penelo gleefully rifle through the pockets of their fallen enemies, although any trinkets they find hardly seem worth the effort.

“Anyway,” Penelo’s saying, as she tugs the waistcoat off a dead bangaa, “it’s a good thing Fran and I had a look around yesterday while you two were off _flying_ ,” and her tone of voice implies they were doing something quite different, “or we wouldn’t even have been able to get in here! You know we had to wander all over the Estersand to get the key to this place? Oh, hey, Vaan look at this!” Penelo holds out a coin purse and the pair eagerly open it; remarkably, it turns out to be full of gil.

Basch makes a distasteful face. “You ought not-” he starts, only to cut himself off.

“The dead won’t miss it,” Balthier comments. “And if we receive any complaints, well. We can be sure to note them.”

Basch looks even more sour at that. “It is disrespectful.”

“If I recall correctly you also stole from the dead,” Balthier comments. “Just over there actually.” Balthier points. “A sword and armour are little different from gil and trinkets.”

Basch flinches and looks away.

Perhaps luckily, another handful of skeletons shamble towards them. Some still bear tattered remnants of skin.

“They are far beyond caring now,” Reddas says. “Come. Let us dispel what evil magicks rouse them and send them back to sleep. It is all we may do for now.”

The Esper they find waiting for them is... different. There is a woman fused to its arm, still alive. If you can call that life, Balthier supposes. She whimpers whenever the Esper moves, screaming when the Esper casts its magick.

At first, their attacks seem to bother it little – it’s not until Vaan is a little careless with a Cure that they do any real damage to it.

The Esper screeches, the woman on its arm sobbing, as Vaan says, “Whoops!”

“Vaan!” Balthier shouts. “Cast Cure on it again!”

“Huh? Okay!” Vaan does, and the Esper turns its attention towards him. Vaan staggers when its magick hits him, collapsing to the ground, but Balthier already has a Phoenix Down ready. He pulls Vaan back to his feet; around him, the others are already casting their own healing magicks.

“Better?” Balthier asks, steadying Vaan with a hand on his back.

Vaan shakes his head to clear it, grimacing. “Ugh, let’s never do that again.”

“Just keep casting, hm?” Balthier says. Even he, poor as he is with magick, manages a few weak Curas, and eventually the scion falls.

Basch strides forwards when it does. “That you may not disturb the dead again,” he says, “I will guard you. You and they will rest alike.”

He does not speak its name; Balthier doesn’t ask.

When they step back out into the blazing Dalmascan sun, Reddas sigh softly and says, “On the morrow, we make for the Sun-Cryst.”

 

It’s a strange night. Ashe and Basch disappear into the streets of Rabanastre together – Balthier thinks he sees their hands touch, briefly, but perhaps his eyes play tricks in the moonlight. Penelo returns to the orphans, clutching half a dozen of Balthier’s liberated books, and Fran goes to visit the viera sisters Ktjn and Krjn. Balthier suspects she is simply giving him privacy; Fran rarely seeks the company of other viera. As for Reddas, Balthier sees him wending his way towards the Sandsea, and doubts he’ll be back before morning.

“Do you think she’ll do it?” Vaan asks, coming to sit beside Balthier. He takes the co-pilot’s seat, Fran’s seat; it seems wrong somehow.

Balthier shrugs. “Who can say? I know the choice _I_ would make, but....”

“Yeah,” Vaan agrees, and Balthier thinks back to Nalbina and the words, _he was defenceless_ falling from Vaan’s lips. Vaan could never condemn an entire Empire. He doesn’t have the stomach for it. “I’m sure Ashe will make the right decision.”

It must be nice to have so much faith in a person, Balthier thinks. As for him... well.

If Ashe won’t strike the Cryst with the Sword of Kings, then someone else will have to.

 

There’s a great spire at the Ridorana Cataract; the Pharos, undoubtedly.

Ashe leans over Balthier’s shoulder. “Can we land at the summit?” she asks.

Balthier guides the _Strahl_ around it, but shakes his head. “No,” he says. “The ledges are too narrow. Looks like we’ll have to climb.”

The shore provides a decent mooring point, if little else.

As Vaan and Penelo peer over the falls, Fran quotes, “A tower on distant shore. And about its peak, a piercing Mist.”

Ashe continues, “And in that Mist, the Sun-Cryst waits.”

“My lady,” says Reddas, “your words still sound of doubt. Pray you reach your answer, ere we the Sun-Cryst.”

“And?” Ashe asks. “Should I choose revenge, what then?”

“Then your woe shall be your own.” Reddas begins to walk towards the Pharos; cheerful man, Reddas.

As the others begin to follow him, Balthier stops Vaan. “Vaan. A word. If something untoward should happen to me, you’re taking the _Strahl_.”

“Untoward? What’s this about?”

“I am the leading man,” Balthier says, lightly. “Might need to do something heroic.”

“Is _that_ why you taught me to fly her?” Vaan asks, running a couple of steps to catch up. He sounds slightly irritated.

“What? No- that was purely for my own benefit,” Balthier assures him. They’ve fallen a little behind by now but.... “I doubt anyone’s told you, but the expressions you make while flying are rather becoming.”

Vaan starts to grin. “Oh?”

It’s hardly a surprise when he pulls Balthier down into a kiss – one unfortunately interrupted a moment later by Penelo calling, “Hurry it up Vaan, or we’ll leave you behind!”

Vaan yanks away from Balthier, looking only slightly embarrassed. “Coming!” he shouts over his shoulder, then, “hey, Balthier? Don’t be too eager to do anything heroic, okay?” He presses another kiss to the corner of Balthier’s mouth, and then runs after Penelo.

Balthier raises his hand to his lips. “I’ll do my best, Vaan,” he murmurs, “but I make no promises.”

 

“He, Fran. Something’s written on the wall.” Vaan reaches out to touch it.

“Engraved by someone, it seems,” Fran says, joining him beside it. “Hm, it’s quite old. ‘Lo, seeker in days unborn, god-blade bearer. Know you: this tower challenges the sky. Ware the Watcher; the ward of the three waits, soul-hungry, unsated. He without power, want it not. He with power, trust it not. He with sight, heed it not. Rend illusion, cut the true path. In blood, Raithwall,’” she reads.

“The Dynast-King?” Ashe asks, surprised.

“Does it startle you?” Fran sounds amused. “The Dynast-King took his sword from the Occuria. It was here he claimed the nethicite. He must have known he was not the last the Occuria would choose. He left this for _you_. Rend illusion, cut the true path. Words of much mystery. Yet his blood runs in your veins. Perhaps it whispers to you the truth?”

Ashe merely sighs and approaches the door. It opens for her, and they head inside.

“I wonder what he meant,” Vaan says, walking alongside Penelo.

“Hm, I think... I think it’s a warning,” Penelo says. “It _sounded_ like a warning.”

“Yeah, but what about? The nethicite? The Occuria?”

Penelo shakes her head, a little unsure. “I don’t... I don’t know, Vaan. It’s not a very happy message.”

Vaan frowns. “Something keeps bothering me about it – I think I’ve heard part of it before? Or well, read part of it before.”

Basch interrupts. “Oh? Where?”

Vaan shrugs. “That’s just it. I can’t remember. But I _know_ I saw part of it before.”

“Troubling indeed,” Reddas says. “I cannot see that anyone might know of these words but look upon them themselves; we know only of the shards Raithwall cut, but if there should be more-”

“We would already be too late,” Balthier points out. “The Occuria may deny their relation, but it is plain to us; Venat is one of them, and all they know, it knows. I do not doubt it would share its knowledge with my father if he were but to ask.”

Suddenly, Vaan shouts, “ _That’s_ where I saw it!” He turns to Basch and says, “You still have that magicite we used to get to Zeromus, right?”

Basch looks surprised, but produces it anyway; Vaan all but snatches it from his hand, turning it over and reading, “‘He with power, trust it not.’ Hey, do you think _Raithwall_ was the one that sealed that Esper?”

They all turn to glance towards Ashe.

“If he were,” Balthier starts, “it might explain why she and it are so often at odds.”

Ashe shakes her head. “This is idle speculation and it helps us not. We cannot know the truth of it; the Esper will not speak to me, though it heeds my call. Perhaps the Dynast-King did seal it, but what matters it now? We make for the Sun-Cryst, not back to the Stilshrine.” She strides on ahead.

After a moment Vaan mutters, “I wasn’t suggesting... uh, never mind.”

“Do not worry yourself,” Basch offers, quietly. “Her Majesty fears what we will find at the summit. She turns her tongue on us, but do not take her words to heart. She means them not.” He clasps Vaan’s shoulder. “Come. We should not fall behind.”

 

Another Esper finds them as they move to the fourth ascent. It inspires not the quiet anger of Basch, nor Ashe’s fury; it’s merely another enemy to cut down. Basch welcomes it like a long lost companion afterwards.

Balthier can only imagine the din that he and Ashe must face whenever they move. Three apiece, by Balthier’s reckoning. He cannot fathom it – one scion is enough. But Ashe has always desired power and Basch is... Basch is her faithful servant.

 

The Sun-Cryst glows with the Mist of millennia; it’s glutted on it, yet still unsated. ‘The ward of the three,’ Balthier thinks, and wonders anew how clearly Raithwall saw the Occuria for what they were.

It matters little; Ashe takes the Sword of Kings from Basch’s hand, carries it and Treaty-Blade both forward. “King Raithwall stood here. With this sword he cut the Sun-Cryst... and took its power in his hand.”

“But you’re going to use the sword to destroy the Sun-Cryst,” Vaan says. “Aren’t you, Ashe.”

Ashe sounds fond when she says, “Don’t interrupt me, Vaan.” Words she hasn’t said in a long time. She lowers the Sword of Kings and her Treaty-Blade starts to glow.

“That can’t be good,” Balthier murmurs to himself.

Ashe thrusts the Treaty-Blade skyward; the sky darkens outside as the Sun-Cryst reacts. The very Mist itself seems to catch alight – Fran staggers slightly, hand going to her head. Balthier glances towards her, concerned, but Fran shakes her head-

Ashe gasps and-

“Lord Rasler!?” Basch exclaims.

So the ghost _was_ real, then.

“You want revenge,” Ashe says, staring at Rasler’s visage. “You would have me use the stone? You would have me destroy the Empire? Is this my duty? Is this what you want? I cannot.”

A most unwelcome voice interrupts. “Why do you hesitate?” asks Judge Magister Gabranth, striding forth from behind them. “Take what is yours. The Cryst is a blade. It was meant for you. Wield it! Avenge your father!” He spreads his arms, as if he would welcome an attack. “Yes, it was _I_ who wore Basch’s face – who cut down the life of Dalmasca. Lady Ashe! Your father’s murderer is here!”

“You?!” Ashe cries.

“And Reks!” Vaan shouts, face twisting with anger.

Penelo muffles a cry and Balthier remembers suddenly, a conversation he and Vaan had _weeks_ ago. She and Reks had been- he grabs her hand and pulls her out of the way.

“I slew your king. I slew your country. Do these deeds not demand vengeance?” Gabranth asks, marching forward. Ashe drops the Sword of Kings, readying her Treaty-Blade in its stead. “Yes. Good! Find your wrath! Take up your sword! Fight, and serve those who died before you!” Gabranth is moving towards Vaan but-

Reddas intercedes, meeting Gabranth’s with his swords crossed. “A Judge Magister there was.... Two years past, he took in his hand the Midlight Shard, stolen from Nabradia, and used it not knowing what he did... and Nabudis was blown away. Cid ordered this of him to learn the nethicite’s true power. That man swore never to let such terrible power to be used again. He forsook his Judicer’s plate, and his name.” His and Gabranth’s blades slide against each other, and Reddas jumps away.

“Judge Zecht!” Gabranth accuses.

“It’s been too long, Gabranth,” Reddas says. “Reach out your hand, Lady Ashe. But remember, that which you must grasp is something beyond revenge, something greater than despair. Something beyond _our_ reach. Try as we might, Gabranth, history’s chains bind us too tightly.” He moves forward again, but Gabranth knocks him aside.

“No, we cannot escape the past,” Gabranth agrees. “This man is living proof! What is your past, daughter of Dalmasca? Did you not swear revenge? Do the dead not demand it?”

Ashe looks towards Rasler’s ghost, still entreating her before the Sun-Cryst, then back towards Vaan. A soft sigh escapes her before she turns back towards Rasler. “Rasler. My Prince. Our time was short. Yet I know this: you were not the kind to take base revenge!” And she swings her Treaty-Blade, cutting not Cryst but ghost instead. “The Rasler I knew is gone.”

The ghost speaks, but not with any hume voice. No, the Occuria speak through it. “You are our saint, Ashelia B’Nargin. You must use the nethicite! You must be the one to straighten history’s weave!”

Ashe swings her sword again, finally dispelling the phantom. “I am no false saint for you to use! In all Dalmasca’s long history, not once did we rely on the Dusk Shard. Our people resolved never to use it, though their need might be dire. _That_ was the Dalmasca I wanted back.” She drops the Treaty-Blade. “To use the stone now would be to betray that. I will destroy the Sun-Cryst! I will discard the stone!”

But there is no time for relief; Gabranth makes his presence known once more.

“You claim no need of power? What of your broken kingdom’s shame? The dead demand justice!” he insists.

“You’re wrong,” Vaan says, cold and firm. “What would change? I can’t help my brother now. My brother’s gone.” He raises his chin. “He’s dead!”

Penelo shakes beside Balthier, squeezing his hand, but says nothing.

“Even with power, we cannot change what has passed. What is done, is done,” Ashe says. She drops the empty Dawn Shard. It rolls across the floor to Gabranth’s feet.

Her words seem to incense Gabranth still further. “Yet without power, what future can you claim? What good a kingdom you cannot defend?”

Basch finally speaks up. “Then I will defend Queen and kingdom both!”

The noise Gabranth makes is one of disgust. “Hah! Defend? You? You who failed Landis and Dalmasca? What can shame hope to keep safe? Your shield is shattered! Your oaths poison those you would protect!” Gabranth shifts his stance, readying for battle. “Hear me, Basch! Do not think killing the Kingslayer will win you back your honour! When you abandoned home and kin, your name was forever stained with blood!”

“Aye,” Basch agrees, “this stain is mine to bear. But I will bear it willingly, knowing that I did all that I could... for hope!”

“Preen and strut as you like! In the end, we are the same! Blood-thirsting carrion birds, hell-bent on revenge!” With that, Gabranth leaps forward towards Basch, surprisingly fast in his armour. Basch only just parries, staggering under the force of Gabranth’s blow, but before Gabranth can follow it up, Vaan is there to protect him, dagger just diverting the main force of Gabranth’s sword.

Soon he is beset from all sides – Ashe and Reddas join the fight, taking advantage of any gap in his guard, no matter how minor.

“Should we help?” Penelo asks.

Balthier shakes his head. “This is not my fight.” He pauses. “I would not stop you if you wished to join them-” He winces as Gabranth sends Vaan flying, but Vaan just grits his teeth and gets back to his feet.

Penelo takes a step forward then stops. “I... no,” she says. “I forgave him a long time ago, even... even if I didn’t really know who I was forgiving.” Reddas falls this time, tossed aside again; he slides across the floor to Penelo’s feet. Before he can re-join the battle, Penelo says, “I might not be fighting, but I can still help.”

Reddas blinks in surprise as a Cura washes over him, then smiles. “My thanks.”

Gabranth does not seem to notice the magick that keeps his enemies fresh, though he tires faster and faster. When finally he staggers back, he groans, “So you, too, would leave your debts unpaid?”

“Enough of this! I can bear no more!” Balthier flinches at the voice – Cid always knew how to inject as much of his displeasure as he could in a few simple words. He’s standing behind Gabranth, the Dawn Shard in his hand. “You disappoint me, Gabranth. He trusted you,” Cid says, pushing Gabranth aside. “When you bared steel against the Princess, you foreswore your obligations to your Emperor! You shame yourself and make mockery of Lord Larsa’s trust. You are unfit to serve him as sword or shield. And so I release you from that service. Your presence is neither required nor welcome.”

It would take a man blinder than Balthier to miss the ire that rouses in Gabranth – Basch shouts a warning to his brother a moment too late, and Cid uses his accursed nethicite granted strength to throw the Judge against the wall.

“You know you are only a tool for this Venat!” Balthier shouts, unable to help himself.

“Hah! How quaint. We are allies!” Cid insists, like meeting this _thing_ didn’t turn him away from home and family – Balthier’s brothers might have followed where their father led, content to listen to his ravings, but Balthier will never forget the day his father came home no longer his father. “The Occuria give men power as a master feeds his dog: it is meant to tame us. How well you’ve resisted their wile.” Cid doesn’t even look at him; he’s staring at Ashe, exultant. “By turning your back on their stones, you give us free hand to write our own history.”

“And at what price?” Ashe challenges. “Dalmasca’s freedom for your nethicite? I shall not suffer you to have it. The Sun-Cryst be damned!”

Venat’s tricks see Cid behind them, stood beside the Cryst. He laughs gleefully, “Oh, be sure that it is! For what other purpose do you think you’ve brought us here? But, my lady, I would have you stay your Occurian sword! The Sun-Cryst is glutted with Mist, and so precious a thing must not be squandered. Let us use the stone! Finish this, Venat!” He throws the Dawn Shard into the air; glowing, it ascends and unites with the Dusk and Midlight Shards. Mist grows thickly around them, glowing so brightly it hurts to look at. An explosion rocks the room and Cid _laughs_.

“Shards of nethicite! Cocoon of the Sun-Cryst! Spill forth this Mist upon this Ivalice!” Cid crows. “Let sea and sky be awash in it, that Bahamut may come and drink his fill!”

And Balthier had thought him not mad after all.

“And lo! How brightly burned their lanthorn! Casts it back the shadow of Occurian design! Testament that man’s history shall be his alone!”

“You made your nethicite for this,” Balthier says, and he cannot contain his bitterness. “You mimic the Occuria’s stone for what? To become a god yourself?”

The mad old fool looks at him at last and exclaims, “On whose shoulders better to stand than those of the would-be gods! Ah, such high hopes I once had... but you ran, and they with you! Alas, the hour of your return is late! Come, Ffamran!” And it hurts to hear _that_ name again, burns to hear it here and now, but the words that follow hurt even more. “Revel in the glory of my triumph!”

Balthier punches him. “Glory? _Glory_?”

Cid grins, teeth bloodied, and holds out a crystal of manufacted nethicite. “Behold the manufacted nethicite... the fruit of our power and knowledge! See what the stone of man is capable of! Witness its power with your own eyes!” He throws it away, shouting, “Famfrit! To me!”

An Esper rises where the nethicite falls, but Balthier ignores it. He picks up Ashe’s forgotten Treaty-Blade, and shouts, “Look around you, old man! I see no crowds! I hear no praise, nor adulation! You think if you become a god, you will be any better than the Occuria? What right do _you_ have?”

Cid laughs. He holds out his hand and one of his toys appears in it. “Who better? I, who have wrested the reins of history back into the hands of man! Who else should rule? You?”

Balthier snarls, dodging Cid’s shot. “ _No-one_! No-one ought rule! Let there be no gods!” Balthier ducks past Venat, swinging the Treaty-Blade; the tip catches Cid’s gun and knocks it from his hands, and Balthier presses his advantage, forcing his father back. He casts the Treaty-Blade aside and grabs Cid by his collar. “Let nethicite, manufacted and deifacted alike lie fallow and forgotten!”

Cid seems bemused by Balthier’s words; he chuckles and says, almost softly, “And let history take its own course, Ffamran? Let man run blindly into the future? Look,” he says, “look where it has led you!” He shoves Balthier away, and two more of his guns appear in his hands.

“Yes,” Balthier says, “here – back to you again. But no longer am I the whelp begging at your feet, content to follow your every whim. I have run, old man, and I have seen and felt more than you could ever have imagined.” It does not matter that Cid does not believe him; of course he doesn’t. He never did.

Balthier closes his eyes; when he opens them, Shemhazai’s Glyph is blazing between his shoulders, and she is singing in the Mist – even Venat cannot protect his father from an Esper’s wrath.

Cid collapses to the ground; none of the people Balthier would name friends stop him from moving to his father’s side, but Venat appears between them. A final insult; is it not enough that it stole his father from him once? Now it must deny him even this?

But Cid... Cid relents. “Let him by, Venat,” he says, and his voice is weak. “It is done. Ah, how I _have_ enjoyed these six years.” He gets to his feet.

Venat turns to him. “The pleasure was all mine,” it says, then finally moves aside.

But it really is done; whatever magicks Cid and Venat have together wrought now begin to turn him to Mist itself. Balthier can hardly bear watch. His anger burns abruptly out.

“Was there no other way?” Balthier asks.

“Spend your pity elsewhere,” Cid says, smiling. “If you are so set on running, hadn’t you best be off? Fool of a pirate.” The last of him turns to Mist; his glasses, all that are left, fall to the floor, and the Mist that was Balthier’s father is devoured by the starving Sun-Cryst. The thing is glowing bright and brighter still.

“Fran? Fran!” Balthier turns at the sound of Penelo’s voice to find her crouching over Fran’s fallen form.

“The Mist burns,” Fran says. “To bursting it beats. The cocoon!” Balthier comes to Fran’s side and she tells him. “The Sun-Cryst bursts. You must run. As far as you can.”

“Easy, Fran,” Balthier murmurs.

Fran cups his face. “Hadn’t you best be off? That’s what a sky pirate does. You fly, don’t you?”

And flying is all Balthier wants to do right now; Fran always has understood him best. “I suppose you’d better hang on then.” The Sun-Cryst glows ever brighter, bleeding Mist – Ashe and Vaan have both Sword of Kings and Treaty-Blade, trying to reach it, but-

Reddas takes the Sword of Kings from Ashe’s hands.

 

Balthier doesn’t leave the _Strahl_ until he’s sure the news has been broken; only then does he get out of his chair and make his way to the hatch.

“We regroup at Reddas’ manse,” Basch is saying. Rikken hardly seems to hear him; he nods, waves Basch off, and Balthier feels little remorse about leaving Rikken to his crewmates.

As it turns out, they’re not the first to reach the manse.

“Al-Cid?” Vaan says, stopping in the doorway.

Al-Cid explains, “We let ourselves inside. The situation is one demanding some haste, you understand.”

“How did you know where we were?” Vaan asks, which is perhaps the least pressing of the many questions Balthier would have asked.

Al-Cid gets to his feet. “My little birds,” he glances back towards his ever present companion, “they tell me many, many things.” Stopping before Ashe, he says, “My Lady, we are on the brink of war.”

“Then you were unsuccessful in stopping the Rozarrian fleet?” Ashe asks.

Al-Cid shakes his head slightly. “I used a variety of methods. All went according to plan until it came time to request the withdrawal of our most devoted generals. In their enthusiasm for war, our great military leaders went behind my back straight to Marquis Ondore’s Resistance. It is only a matter of time before they make their move.”

“Then why not warn the Marquis? Why come to us?” Ashe asks. “He prepares for war but my uncle has no desire to start it.”

Al-Cid shakes his head. “They would not have joined under Rozarrian colours, my Lady, perhaps as patriots or simple mercenaries. It matters little; in truth, the Marquis cannot afford to turn any away. But be sure of this – they take their orders straight from our War-Pavilion. I do not doubt that soon there will be a little accident and,” Al-Cid spreads his hands, “war will be upon us. The battleground will undoubtedly be Dalmasca.”

“And then Rozarria would enter the fray, the defence of Dalmasca her excuse, and we will have a war between empires,” Balthier comments.

“Correct! They would bide their time – waiting to strike until the Empire has spent itself against the Marquis. But Vayne – he will crush them and the Marquis both between his hands.” Al-Cid claps his hands together.

Basch shakes his head. “Vayne holds the Dusk Shard no longer. His advantage is lost.”

Wagging his finger, Al-Cid says, “Vayne has advantages enough. He stands on higher ground, and my birds tell me he has awoken something quite large. _Bahamut_ , Lord of the Sky.” It’s the same name Cid said, at the height of his ravings. “There was a stirring in the Mist in the direction of Ridorana, I am told. _Bahamut_ awoke soon after this.”

“It is the Mist that came before the Cryst was undone,” Fran says. “It breathed life into this _Bahamut_. If Reddas had not stopped it when he did, how much more Mist might it have drunk? All went according to Doctor Cid’s designs.”

“Yes,” Balthier agrees, “the man’s last great accomplishment, I fear. And so it falls to me to put an end to the thing.” He is, after all, both leading man and Cid’s son. It is only right that such a task should fall to him.

“When war comes,” Al-Cid continues, “Vayne will command _Bahamut_ himself. But... for now you have perhaps a little time. I will do what I can to hinder this invasion. Ah, yes...” Al-Cid stops and takes Ashe’s hand. “When this unpleasantness is done, you must come to Rozarria. I will take you to the Ambervale of Clan Margrace. Such things I will show you! Until then, I will be waiting.” With that said, he leaves.

Ashe leans heavily against Reddas’ desk. “What now?” she murmurs. “Do we simply wait until war comes?”

“You may,” Balthier says, “but _I_ make for Giruvegan.”

“Giruvegan?” Ashe asks.

“With Cid dead, Venat has doubtless returned to Vayne’s side. He will be hard enough to fight without that creature whispering in his ear – where better to get information on an Occurian than from the Occuria themselves?” Balthier snorts. “Mayhap they will even tell me how to kill the thing _without_ nethicite if I ask nicely enough.”

“I’ll go with you!” Vaan says, grinning. Penelo nods.

“I... I doubt they would speak if I were to join you,” Ashe says. She shakes her head. “I will remain here.”

Basch nods. “My place is with my Queen,” he says. No-one mentions his slip of the tongue. She will be Queen soon enough.

“I also,” Fran murmurs. She smiles, carefully. “We will call if we have need of you.”

Balthier nods. “The same for you.” He turns to Vaan and Penelo. “Come along. We have little time to waste.”

 

Night has long since fallen by the time they reach Giruvegan; to enter now would be tantamount to suicide, and Balthier’s never had a death wish. They moor beyond the open gates, and Penelo retires to bed as soon as she’s eaten, half asleep on her feet. Balthier soon follows, retreating to his room. He sits tiredly on his bed and lets the soothing noises of the _Strahl_ relax him.

“I got these for you.”

Balthier looks up; Vaan’s standing in the doorway, holding out a pair of glasses. It doesn’t take Balthier more than a moment to recognise them. “When-”

Vaan shrugs. “I almost stepped on them,” he confesses. A slightly nervous look crosses his face. “ _Do_ you want them? I can get rid of them if you don’t-”

Balthier takes them from Vaan’s outstretched hand. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and his voice sounds brittle even to his own ears, but... he means it.

Vaan carefully sits beside him on the bed. He twists his necklace and says, “When Reks died... it was different, you know? But I still wanted something of his and I thought... maybe you would too.”

Balthier’s hands curl around the glasses. One lens is cracked, and the chain is broken. Balthier closes his eyes and leans against Vaan’s shoulder. His murmured, “Thank you,” is much softer this time.

 

The walk through Giruvegan is as unsettling as it was before. Vaan and Penelo try to stay in high spirits, but the urgency of their quest cannot be forgotten.

When at last they reach the final waystone, the Treaty-Blade brings it to life, and their small group returns to where the Occuria wait.

The Occuria do not greet them.

“Rude, aren’t you?” Balthier comments. “Do you have nothing to say to us? We lowly mortals, not born of Raithwall’s blood – are we not good enough to speak to you would-be gods?”

“Balthier!” Penelo tugs at his sleeve. “You’ll make them angry!”

“Rather the point,” Balthier assures her. “Venat spoke to my father – perhaps he saw something you did not? Should I seek out your heretic in place of you-”

The voice sweeps through the place. “Away with you, you cloud our sight! We see your games for what they are!”

“So you _are_ listening,” Vaan mutters, shifting to stand at Balthier’s back.

“You know why we’re here!” Balthier shouts, glancing around for the tell-tale thickening Mist that speaks of a manifesting Occurian. “You spoke before of killing Venat – do you still desire it?” There is a sick and ill desire in the air; he’s certainly captured their attention with that.

The statue- no, the living body of the Occurian before him shifts and then the Occurian form Balthier’s more familiar with appears in the air between them. Others appear around them; their silence speaks for them.

“I think that means yes,” Penelo whispers, unnecessarily.

Balthier half-smiles. “Then I assume you know of a way – _besides_ nethicite. Your beloved Cryst is shattered, and I’d rather not go looking for another.”

Stung, the Occurian leader spits, “The Cryst was one and lone, unique. A diff’rent course you must now take. Inside her gaol, she waits and waits; our Saint, our Seraph, traitor... _her_.” It fades into nothing and the chamber goes still and quiet – they’ve said all they have to say.

Penelo shivers. “Let’s go before they change their minds.”

Balthier nods; Vaan touches Treaty-Blade to floor and they leave.

 

Her name is Ultima, Penelo tells them, later. She’s trying her best to smile; when the great Esper, the Occuria’s prisoner and weapon, had fallen, she had not crystallised like the others. Her eyes had been wide still, and she’d let go of her pale skirts and pointed one trembling hand towards Penelo.

“ _You_ ,” the Esper had said, in a voice that should not have been heard, “I will accept no other.”

So Penelo has Ultima’s Glyph marking her from collar to waist, and Ultima is, finally, free.

 

Something goes _wrong_ as they pass over the Henne Mines; Vaan’s flying the _Strahl_ , glee writ plain on his face, and Balthier’s teaching Penelo how to navigate when she suddenly flinches, hands flying to her chest and her eyes screwing shut.

“Penelo?” Vaan asks, all trace of his joy quickly overshadowed by worry.

Ultima’s Glyph starts to shine – Penelo whimpers and says, “No,” pushing against her chest. “No!” she repeats, louder. Her eyes fly open, and they’re the same red as Ultima’s eyes as she says, “I _don’t_ summon you!”

“Vaan!” Balthier says. “Land now!” He scoops Penelo up out of the co-pilot’s seat, carrying her to the exit hatch and opening it. A blast of wind blows him back, Vaan still bringing the _Strahl_ around; as soon as he can, Balthier jumps to the ground, stumbling when he lands. Penelo falls from his arms, but hardly seems to notice, still caught up in whatever battle she’s having with Ultima.

“I won’t!” Penelo sobs, crying, even as the Glyph _blazes_ and Balthier can feel Shemhazai waking, taking notice.

Behind him, Vaan lands and hurries out to join them. “Penelo!” Vaan shouts, immediately rushing to her side. He looks up to Balthier, eyes desperate. “What’s happening to her?”

Balthier hesitates. “I think- Ultima is trying to force a summoning, it seems.”

“They can _do_ that?” Vaan sounds horrified.

“No,” Balthier says, as Penelo twists between them. “Or... ordinarily not. This one seems... different. Penelo is-”

“I _won’t summon_ _you_!” Penelo shouts, sitting bolt upright. Ultima’s Glyph abruptly dulls and Penelo’s eyes roll back in her head as she collapses back against Vaan.

“Penelo? Penelo?” Vaan shakes her. “Is she okay?”

“Calm down,” Balthier says. “The summoning failed, clearly. I think- she’s just passed out, Vaan.” Vaan cradles her more tightly. “Let me-” Balthier casts Esuna. Penelo stirs, blinking; her eyes are blue again. Balthier sighs with no small relief.

“Penelo? Are you okay?” Vaan asks, urgently.

Penelo groans, rubbing her head. “I think so,” she says. “That was _not_ fun.”

“I can’t say it looked it,” Balthier agrees. He pauses before asking, “Do you have any idea _why_ she...?”

Sitting up, still a little shaky, Penelo starts to shake her head then stops. “Oh, wait. I think...” She turns to glance towards the mines. “She wanted to go into the mines. But I don’t know why.” Penelo shrugs, wincing. “Sorry, Balthier.”

“You don’t need to apologise,” Vaan says, insistently. “That thing- whatever it was doing it was _hurting_ you, you don’t need to apologise for anything.”

“He’s right,” Balthier says. “That you managed to deny her what she wanted says much – hah, I’ll bet you gave her a nasty surprise.” Penelo manages a weak smile at that.

“Come on,” Vaan says, helping Penelo to her feet, “let’s back to the _Strahl_.” He loops one of Penelo’s arms around his neck and supports her up the stairs back into the _Strahl_.

Balthier remains outside a moment longer. The urgency with which Ultima had reacted.... “What were you after?” he murmurs. He takes half a step forward- but no, it would be foolish to venture alone into the mines.

Back aboard the _Strahl_ Vaan has made Penelo comfortable in the room he used to share with her. He looks up when Balthier stops outside the door. “We’re staying here tonight,” Vaan says, in a tone that brooks no argument.

“I was about to suggest the same thing,” Balthier replies. “Ultima made a great effort to visit the mines; I for one would like to know _why_.”

For once, Vaan looks nervous. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? I-”

“Balthier’s right,” Penelo says. “I don’t know _why_ she wanted to go there but... she wanted to _really_ badly.” Penelo takes Vaan’s hand. “I don’t think she’s going to try the same trick again, Vaan, and we need to know _why_ she wanted to go in there so badly.”

Vaan makes a displeased noise. “I don’t like it,” he says, “but if you’re sure...”

“Yep!” Penelo smiles, gently. “I’m tough, remember?” She squeezes Vaan’s hand.

He visibly relents. “Okay but. Not until tomorrow.”

“Good,” Balthier says. “Get some rest, both of you. We’ll have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow if we want to get to the bottom of this and back to Balfonheim all in the same day.”

Vaan stays in Penelo’s room that night, but Balthier hadn’t expected anything less.

 

Their trek through the mines is far from pleasant; hecteyes and etéms swarm in the passages Penelo says they should head down. Vaan’s usual optimism, already drained by Ultima’s attempt to force a summoning the day before, suffers even further under the relentless attacks from dozens of monsters.

“Are you _sure_ this is the right way?” Vaan asks, for the fifth time, Treaty-Blade slicing through yet another amorphous hecteyes.

Penelo wipes her Tournesol clean. “Yes, Vaan,” she says, “I am absolutely sure this is the right way. Just like I was the last time you asked. _And_ the time before that.”

Balthier casts Vanishga on an etém and yanks Vaan around a corner, following Penelo. “Perhaps a better question would be ‘how much farther’?”

“Not much,” Penelo replies, pressing herself flush against the wall to avoid being seen by a necrofiend. “Just over there.” She points past the fiend.

“We can make it if we run,” Vaan says.

“On three?” Balthier suggests, then starts counting down. The necrofiend hisses as they all run past it, but they’re gone before it can attack; stumbling around the corner and into the room beyond, Vaan laughing gleefully.

“Hah, did you see it?” Vaan says. “It didn’t even realise we were there!”

Penelo yanks on Vaan’s arm and says, “Um, Vaan?”

“What?”

Penelo points. It still takes Vaan a moment to turn around and see what they’ve both already noticed.

The Esper continues to stare at them curiously. Balthier takes a cautious step backwards; Shemhazai’s Glyph itches between his shoulder blades. He can only imagine how Penelo feels.

The Esper flies down from the ceiling, making an inquisitive noise as it approaches. As it gets close to Penelo, Ultima’s Glyph lights up once and the Esper flinches back, making an offended noise as it does.

“No!” Penelo says, thumping her chest once. Ultima backs down, but it’s too late for them; the other Esper spreads its wings and hisses at them furiously.

“Get ready!” Balthier shouts, but even so he doubts any of them are quite prepared for the power with which the Esper sets on them.

When it’s finally over, the Esper _laughs_.

“That was fun!” it giggles, apparently unmindful of the way Vaan is clutching his bruised ribs, Penelo’s limp or Balthier’s broken arm. Then again, why should an Esper care for a mortal’s injuries?

“I think I’m gonna be sick,” Vaan says, leaning heavily against Balthier’s side.

“Penelo?” Balthier calls, wincing slightly.

She nods, grimly, and manages a Curaga – weak for her, but strong enough to set Balthier’s arm. She casts another upon Vaan, and he slowly straightens, although he still looks somewhat pale faced.

“Better?” Balthier asks, carefully placing his good arm on the small of Vaan’s back. Vaan nods. “Glad to hear it. Now, Esper... do you have a name?”

The Esper laughs again; it hardly seems winded at all. “They named me Zodiark,” it says, “Keeper of Precepts. I am the one who fashions the laws governing all things, the one who administers punishment in place of gods.”

“Oh,” Penelo says, “I guess that’s why she wanted to see you.”

Zodiark looks at her; some measure of displeasure comes over it. “Bound of the High Seraph – I will not see her. Do not speak her name before me.” Balthier is reminded of nothing so much as a petulant child as the Esper speaks. It turns his attention towards him, after. “You also are bound; the Whisperer is traitor also, and swore fealty to High Seraph. I will not speak to you either.”

“Charming,” Balthier says, “you’ll find us poor company then.”

Zodiark ignores him, finally turning its attention to Vaan – gleefully it announces, “Discarded once and twice and thrice! Occurian chosen and cast aside; unbound by Seraph, traitor or scion! You I have chosen.”

“Oh no,” Vaan says, “no-”

Zodiark disappears, its crystal forming in Vaan’s hands. It shatters instantly, despite Vaan’s protests, and with a blaze of light Zodiark’s Glyph spreads from Vaan’s shoulders downwards, disappearing beneath his sash.

“Well,” Balthier says, in the ensuing silence. “Welcome to the clan.”

 

“You went _where_?” Balthier asks.

Basch’s smile becomes somewhat more uncertain. “Nabudis? The Lady Ashe wished to-”

“The _Necrohol_ ,” Vaan says, sounding awed. “You went to the Necrohol without us.”

Balthier frowns. He has the sneaking suspicion now that this may all have been _Fran’s_ suggestion – certainly neither Ashe nor Basch had seemed likely to disappear into the Necrohol at the first opportunity when they left.

Nettled, Ashe snaps, “You went to _Giruvegan_ without us. I cannot fathom it was any less dangerous.”

“Oh, I agree,” Balthier says, lightly, “but we at least spoke of Giruvegan before we left.”

“And how went Giruvegan?” Basch asks. “Did you find aught?” He sounds doubtful.

“Yes, actually,” Balthier says. “Penelo can tell you.”

Penelo looks nervous to have Basch and Ashe suddenly turn their attention to her; she takes a step back, half ducking behind Vaan. “I....”

“An Esper,” Fran says, curiously, “it walks with you?” She frowns, eyes moving to Vaan. “And with you?”

“Ah,” Balthier starts.

“Um, about that,” Vaan says.

“She,” Penelo interrupts, insistent. “She. Her name is... Ultima. The Occuria said she’d be able to kill Venat.”

Ashe raises a hand to her mouth. “I thought- you did not wish to bind an Esper.”

Penelo smiles. “We didn’t really have a choice.” She explains, telling them of Ultima’s ultimatum.

“Rose up, she did, ‘gainst her creators,” Fran murmurs. “Caller of the dark scions; first to betray the Occuria.” Fran blinks, shaking her head. “She will be eager then, to cut one down. We also found an Esper,” Fran continues.

Balthier’s eyebrows raise. “Oh?”

Basch nods. “Chaos,” he says, raising a hand to brush his fingers over the side of his neck. “It lurked within the old Cloister of the Highborn.”

“And what _were_ you doing there, I wonder,” Balthier murmurs.

Ashe hears him; she looks away, and it falls to Basch to explain, “There was an heirloom- a spear of House Nabradia. We went to reclaim it.”

“Treasure hunting was it?” Balthier smirks. “Hardly a motive I can fault.”

“Did you get it?” Vaan asks, and Ashe reluctantly produces an elegantly wrought spear. Vaan makes the appropriate noises of interest and resists taking it from her. “Does this mean I can keep your sword?”

Ashe sighs. “Yes, Vaan. Now tell us about your Esper.”

Vaan’s expression becomes decidedly pinched. “He was just in the Henne magicite mines. Ultima wanted to see him,” Vaan says, as lightly as is possible. “I didn’t _want_ him! But he said he wouldn’t bind with Penelo or Balthier because of their Espers so now I’m stuck with him.” Vaan mutters a word that Balthier is sure is highly uncomplimentary, although he unfortunately doesn’t speak whichever language it’s spoken in.

“You sell yourself short,” Balthier says, “he spoke also of the Occuria before he chose you.”

Penelo recites, “‘Occurian chosen and cast aside,’ isn’t that what he said, Balthier?”

Ashe starts. “Occurian? Then-”

“It is my belief,” Balthier interrupts, “that the ghost you saw at Raithwall’s tomb was an illusion, given you by the Occuria. But if they had already chosen our Princess as their saviour, why then should Vaan have seen it too?” Balthier shakes his head. “No, they were still undecided – should they restore Ashelia B‘Nargin Dalmasca to her throne, or should Vaan Ratsbane climb up from the gutter and lead Dalmasca to freedom? In the end, I suspect it was merely your susceptibility towards nethicite’s power that led them to choose you over Vaan.”

“And so the Esper chose you,” Ashe murmurs, looking at a still unpleased Vaan.

Balthier changes the subject. “Anyway, any news on the Resistance? Are we at war?”

With a heavy sigh, Basch shakes his head. “Not yet, it would seem. No word has yet arrived from Al-Cid, and Rikken has eyes watching all across Dalmasca.”

“Then we have time enough to eat,” Balthier says, rising to his feet. “Come. Wouldn’t want to be hungry when the war does start, would we?”

 

It’s while Vaan is loudly regaling various pirates with their daring escape from the Pharos at Ridorana that Balthier thinks of it. He looks towards Basch, seated across from him. “That reminds me. Did your brother escape?” Balthier asks.

Basch’s shoulders tense. “I know not,” he replies. “He may have fallen there while we were yet distracted; I find myself reluctant to confirm the truth.”

Beside Balthier, Penelo goes suddenly still. “Oh, um,” she says. “He escaped.”

Balthier turns towards her in surprise. “And how do you know what Gabranth’s brother does not?”

Penelo shifts nervously in her chair. “I fell over him! While we were fighting Famfrit- I tripped over his legs and- and,” Penelo’s voice drops into a hushed whisper, that only Balthier and Basch might hear her, “I Cured him.”

Basch exclaims loudly enough that Vaan, at the other end of the table, all but falls out of his chair. “Basch! Don’t _do_ that!” The other pirates laugh and clap his back; Vaan has certainly made some friends here.

“A-apologies,” Basch says, before looking back to Penelo. “You will forgive me for asking, but why do such a foolhardy thing? My brother- Gabranth is- he has done many of us ill.”

Penelo reaches over the table and pats Basch’s arm gently. Her smile is very sad. “Too many brothers have died,” she murmurs, glancing towards Vaan.

“Yes,” Balthier agrees. “Even so, we may come to regret your decision. Then again we may not; I doubt that man sees enough kindness as to forget it quickly.”

Basch flinches, just slightly. “It is... I find I must thank you, Penelo. You have made a choice that I- that I could not.”

Penelo shakes her head. “You don’t need to thank me, Basch. I couldn’t just leave him.”

“Few would do the same,” Balthier murmurs. He gets to his feet. “Let us hope your mercy does not go to waste.”

Basch sighs softly. “Even should it not, you have my thanks anyway, Penelo. It does my heart well to know Gabranth yet lives.”

“I’m glad,” Penelo replies. Tentatively, she asks, “Would you like to hear what Larsa told me about him?”

“Aye,” Basch says, voice cracking, “I should like that.”

Balthier moves away, giving them some privacy; he goes over to Vaan, slightly interrupting the flow of Vaan’s latest story.

“I’m going back to the _Strahl_ ,” Balthier says, running a hand proprietarily over Vaan’s shoulders. “I’ll see you tonight?”

Vaan twists around in his seat, grinning. “Nah, I’ll go with you.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to take you away from your friends-” Balthier protests, more for appearances sake than anything.

The way Vaan’s smile widens tells Balthier that Vaan doesn’t believe that for a moment. “I was finished anyway.” He makes his farewells to the other pirates, several of them leering and making ribald jokes as Vaan gets to his feet.

The walk back to the aerodrome is made in companionable silence; Vaan’s hand bumps lightly against Balthier’s every few moments, until Balthier finally gives in and tangles their fingers together.

“Is this what you wanted?” Balthier asks, holding up their joined hands.

“Uh-huh,” Vaan says, pulling Balthier closer. He nuzzles the side of Balthier’s throat before carefully tugging on Balthier’s earring. “Well, mostly.”

Balthier groans softly. “Not here,” he murmurs, stepping slightly away from Vaan, though keeping their hands linked. There are few enough people on the streets of Balfonheim that they don’t attract much attention hurrying through it, and no-one else is in the hangar. Vaan’s hands begin to wander as soon as they’re up the steps and into the _Strahl_ ; Balthier can hardly blame him. This is like to be their last chance before... well. “Hasty, aren’t you?” Balthier mutters anyhow, leading Vaan to his room.

“Are you complaining?” Vaan asks, breathlessly.

Balthier chuckles. “If I were complaining you would know.” He pulls Vaan into a kiss, slipping a hand beneath Vaan’s sash. Vaan’s fingers scratch pleasantly through Balthier’s hair, other hand curving around Balthier’s waist. Balthier kisses again the side of Vaan’s mouth and walks backwards until he reaches the bed and sits down.

Vaan follows, kneeling over him and pressing his forehead against Balthier’s. “Hi,” Vaan murmurs.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Balthier replies, and of course _that’s_ the moment Penelo bursts in, wild eyed.

“It’s started,” she says.

 

While Vaan flies them across the Naldoan Sea towards Rabanastre, Balthier excuses himself to write a letter. With any luck, no-one will ever read it.

After a little more consideration, Balthier takes Ashe’s ring out of one of his pouches. He holds it up to the light, thinking... and then carefully tucks it within the letter’s envelope.

There. Done. Choices made. No more running.

 

Nothing Al-Cid had said could have adequately prepared Balthier for the size of the _Bahamut_ ; to call the thing an airship strikes Balthier as something of a falsehood. One can’t help but wonder _how_ the Archadian built it without anyone noticing. Vayne must have been moving funds away for _years_ -

Hah, of course. Six years to build this damn thing, he shouldn’t wonder.

Balthier doesn’t stop to peer too closely at the reliefs on the walls and doors, but now that he’s in here it feels unpleasantly like the old Bunansa family home. Perhaps Cid had let one of his brothers decorate.

The engine is at least something Balthier can somewhat appreciate – no-one else in the family Bunansa has taken any major interest in airship design, so this, Balthier is sure, was almost certainly made by moogles. Unfortunately, moogles under orders from Doctor Cid, but even so.

It’s a monster.

Vaan agrees. “This thing shouldn’t even be flying,” Vaan mutters, glaring at the engine as they proceed around it. “I mean look at this – even if you took this thing to a jagd I don’t think there’d be enough Mist to power its glossair rings.”

“Hm.” Balthier pauses to examine the fixture Vaan’s pointing at. “He must have been very certain of acquiring enough Mist to power his _Bahamut_.”

Vaan wrinkles his nose. “We did everything they wanted, didn’t we? Got them all the deifacted nethicite they wanted, went to Giruvegan like they wanted, went to the Sun-Cryst....”

“But Reddas shattered the Cryst in the end,” Fran reminds him. "The _Bahamut_ may have drunk of its Mist, but it was not sated.”

“Come on!” Penelo shouts. “I know you two love airships but this really isn’t the time!”

Balthier and Vaan look at each other. “Later,” Balthier promises.

 

“I can do it,” Vaan insists, poking at the lift controls.

“Are you sure?” Penelo teases. “It looks like you’re just messing around-” She goes suddenly silent at the sound of armour dragging over metal, and they all turn, Basch slowest and last, as if fearing what he might see.

Gabranth stands behind them, twin swords locked together.

“Penelo told me you yet lived,” Basch says, in lieu of greeting.

Gabranth stills, then shakes his head. “I am Judge Magister,” he says, almost reprovingly. He takes a step forward and staggers, his leg partly giving way. “Even in disgrace,” he continues. “My just reward for aiding the Empire that destroyed my homeland.”

“Gabranth. Do not blame yourself anymore,” Basch says.

Gabranth points at him snapping, “You confound me, brother! You failed Landis, you failed Dalmasca... all you were to protect. Yet you still hold on to your honour. How?” He sounds like a man made desperate, pushed to the very edge.

But Basch is calm, even serene. “I had someone more important to defend. And defend her I have.” He glances briefly, back towards Ashe, then continues, “How is it that _you_ have survived? Is it not because you defend Lord Larsa?”

“Silence! All was stripped from me!” Gabranth shouts. “Only hatred for the brother who fled our homeland remains mine.”

“That’s not true!” Penelo interrupts, darting between them.

“Penelo!” Vaan shouts, but she ignores him.

“Do not stand between us,” Gabranth says, “this is between my brother and I.”

Penelo shakes her head violently. “I’m not moving! I’m not moving and you won’t touch me!”

Gabranth takes a step forward as if in threat. “My business is with my brother, not you,” he snaps, but Balthier feels Penelo has the right of it.

She looks straight up into his face plate and she says, “Reks was going to marry me,” and all the fight abruptly and brutally leaves Gabranth.

He staggers away from her as she’d struck him clean across the face, breathing harshly, legs finally giving out beneath him. His weapon falls from his hand. “You-” Gabranth starts, then falters. “I killed him,” he says, “ _I_ killed him.”

Penelo takes a little step forward; it’s almost funny the way it makes Gabranth back away. “I forgave you a long time ago. But that wasn’t what I wanted to talk about. I was _going_ to say... have you _seen_ Larsa since you came back from the Pharos? Because I think if you did... well, I can’t say for sure, but I don’t think he’d send you away. In a few minutes, anything Vayne orders won’t matter anymore,” and Gabranth hardly even flinches at the careless way Penelo describes the imminent assassination of his Emperor, “So... you should probably go and talk to Larsa. Oh, and your brother.” She marches back to Vaan’s side, where they begin a hissed conversation that would doubtlessly prove very amusing if Balthier could hear any of it.

Basch takes a careful step forward, then crouches. “She has the right of it.”

“Hah.” Near blindly, Gabranth gropes for his blade again. “She knows... she knows nothing.”

Basch shakes his head. “Let this end, Noah. I would have a brother again.”

Gabranth turns his head away. “I’ve no right to be called by that name.”

Standing again, Basch murmurs, “Then live. And reclaim it.”

They leave Gabranth on the lift, panting and injured; Penelo gives him an X-Potion before they continue up the stairs, but they don’t stay to watch him drink it.

 

Vayne begins to monologue as soon as he sets eyes on them; it’s sure to be nothing of any worth, so Balthier leans down and murmurs to Penelo, “As soon as you see a hint of Venat....”

She nods minutely.

“... who are you?” Vayne is saying. Balthier suspects he honestly doesn’t know; oh, he recognises Ashe, and Basch likely enough, maybe even Balthier himself, but Vaan, Penelo and Fran will be well below Vayne’s notice.

“I am simply myself,” Ashe answers. “No more and no less. And I want only to be free.”

“Such a woman is not fit to bear the burden of rule,” Vayne says, as if _he_ knows anything of burdens or ruling, “weep for Dalmasca, for she is lost. Observe well, Larsa. Watch and mark you the suffering of one who must rule, yet lacks the power.”

And little Larsa, the fledgling, underestimated by senate and father and brother alike, draws his sword. “No,” he says. “No, brother. I will not.” His sword-hand trembles. “Though I lack your power, I will still persist.” Larsa places his other hand on his sword’s hilt, steadying it.

“Hmph. Bold words, child,” Vayne declares.

If Vayne notices the careful way Penelo keeps her distance, or how he and Vaan keep glancing about the room as they fight, he seems to make no particular note of it; but that is how Balthier remembers Vayne. Ashe and Basch have his focus now, as well as Larsa, and all others are beneath his notice.

Even so, it isn’t until Vayne falls, and Larsa runs towards him that anything happens. Electricity charged Mist surrounds Larsa, some foul trick seeking to sap his energy and give it to Vayne.

Vayne screams as a shockwave of pure Mist blasts out from him. When the Mist clears, he’s become... twisted, far beyond even Bergan.

“Manufacted nethicite!” Ashe says; Balthier can only imagine that Vayne must have been _ingesting_ the stuff for it to have done this to him.

Vayne summons swords to his aid, and says, his face twisted into a rictus grin, “Behold the power left me by our fallen friend.”

And then a most unexpected surprise; Gabranth walks up the stairs, steadier on his feet now, swords sheathed.

Vayne notices him. “Gabranth, you will defend my brother. He will have much need in the hell to follow.” It’s possibly the worst thing he could’ve said to the man, Balthier thinks.

Gabranth draws one of his swords and, as Larsa had only minutes before, directs it towards Vayne. “Yes, I _will_ defend Lord Larsa!” Gabranth announces.

“The hound strays,” Vayne says, contempt plain in his voice. “Treason bears a price.”

“One I gladly pay,” Gabranth says.

Vayne engages him immediately – as with Larsa before him, Gabranth draws Vayne’s ire.

“I still haven’t seen it,” Penelo murmurs, as she and Balthier engage one of Vayne’s summoned swords.

“No matter,” Balthier assures her, “I don’t doubt the creature will show its hand soon enough.”

Finally, Vayne tires, dropping to the ground. He’s clutching his grotesquely muscled shoulder, panting; Balthier expects Venat to appear _any_ second now, they all do, and that’s why they all hesitate.

All of them, save Gabranth.

He charges forward with a cry, swinging his sword, and it cleaves through Vayne’s _other_ shoulder as a hot knife through butter; Vayne doesn’t even scream. He merely grits his teeth and sends one of his swords careening towards Gabranth’s head – only that cumbersome, impractical armour of his saves him. The side of his helmet his shorn clean off, but Gabranth is largely unharmed.

“Even a stray has pride,” Gabranth pants.

Furious, Vayne strikes Gabranth again, and this time he hits true; Gabranth is sent flying halfway across the room. Basch hurries to his side.

“Here I pay my debt,” Gabranth says, weakly.

Holding his cloven shoulder together, Vayne screams, “Burn in hell, Gabranth!” He sends all his summoned swords flying towards the pair but-

They are stopped.

The other use of nethicite. Hah. Larsa stands between Vayne and Gabranth, his own small shard of manufacted nethicite raised in his hand. It draws each sword inside it, then shatters, harmlessly. He falls to his knees moments after.

Vaan takes advantage of Vayne’s distraction to attack him, picking up Gabranth’s fallen sword and slamming into his stomach; Vayne topples backwards down the stairs and Vaan leaps after him, only to be stopped by-

Venat.

Penelo is ready. Ultima’s Glyph flares into life, light spilling forth and the Esper only moments later. Her red eyes are already open, the light spilling from her shining form seeming to set the room aglow. Alarmed, Venat disappears again, but whatever cloak of shadows that hides the Occuria from mortal eyes is as nothing to her fury – Ultima sees through it with ease.

She sets on Venat with her bare, verdigrised hands, tearing the Occurian apart with a rage unmatched by anything Balthier’s ever seen before.

Vayne screams at the bottom of the stairs, and Venat with him; Mist flows from Occurian to Vayne, but even that cannot stop Ultima’s rage, and she falls to Vayne with similar fury.

Balthier takes Vaan’s arm and drags him away from the carnage. There are some things no-one should see. Penelo is trying to do the same with Larsa, but the young new Emperor is still frozen by both his action and the... noises. Vayne’s screams have ceased, but Balthier suspects Ultima will not stop until his body is little more than a bloody stain on the ground.

Balthier overhears Gabranth say, quietly, “Basch, tell me. He is a good master?”

“Aye,” Basch replies. He still does not turn to look Gabranth in the face.

“Penelo,” Balthier says, and whispers what he suspects to her. “Tell Larsa.”

She does.

“No,” Larsa whispers, and then he half walks, half falls to Gabranth’s side, “Gabranth-”

The dying man smiles. “My Lord Larsa,” he says, “you are unhurt?”

And it seems that is enough; Larsa collects himself. “Yes,” he says. “You did... you did very well, Gabranth.”

 

The run back to the _Strahl_ is made much easier by the presence of both Larsa and Gabranth, to say nothing of the mysterious absence of the _Bahamut_ ’s commander. A handful of guards assume Larsa is being kidnapped only to back down hurriedly when Gabranth growls, from his brother’s back, that they are both being escorted for medical aid.

No-one raises the point that no medical attention in all of Ivalice could save Gabranth now.

As soon as they reach the _Strahl_ Balthier and Fran go to the cockpit. “Well? Can we fly?” Balthier asks, starting up the controls.

Fran shakes her head. “No fuel goes to the glossair engines.”

“Damn.” Blasted nethicite. “Vaan, you’re in charge. I’m checking the engine room. Fran, with me!” As Balthier goes to leave a blast to the _Bahamut_ rocks the whole airship.

“Look!” Ashe says. “The _Bahamut_ ’s glossair rings are stopping!”

Ah. Worse news. Well, he _had_ promised to take care of this thing and.... “Vaan,” Balthier says, “as soon as the _Strahl_ ’s rings move, you take off, understood?”

“Got it,” Vaan says, taking the pilot’s seat. Balthier allows himself a moment longer to just look, then turns and heads for the engine room.

Behind him he hears Fran say, “Penelo, watch for interference from _Bahamut_ ’s skystone. The _Strahl_ ’s a fickle girl. You keep her working for us.” She takes only a few steps to catch up to him. “You go to _Bahamut_ ,” she says, because Fran has always understood. “I will join you soon.”

Balthier still has to stop for a moment. “You don’t- this is one adventure I’m not asking you to join me on, Fran,” Balthier says.

She smiles and moves past him. “We are sky pirates. We are partners. Where else would I go but with you?”

“I should have known better than to try to leave you behind,” Balthier murmurs, shaking his head.

“You should have,” Fran agrees, and they continue down to the engine room. The fix takes only a few moments, and then it’s out the emergency hatch and a daring leap back onto the _Bahamut_ just before Vaan flies the _Strahl_ away. Fran touches Balthier’s elbow, lightly. “We will see them again,” she says, certainly.

“Of course we will,” Balthier replies, “I am the leading man after all.”

Inside the _Bahamut_ a general alert is blaring – abandon ship, Balthier assumes. No-one aboard can fail to have realised that the glossair rings have failed; the _Bahamut_ is falling, and it feels like it. Luckily, that means there’s no-one to get in the way as he and Fran race to the engine’s fuel cells.

Balthier kneels beside some access ports. “I’ll start getting these open – go see if you can’t find any spare fuel lying around, will you, Fran? We won’t need much.” One of them is jammed shut, the cables to another severed. He moves onto a third and finds a discarded toolkit amongst the rubble – the _Bahamut_ shudders all around and Fran finally arrives with a crate of fuel.

“The fuel system is not the only thing damaged,” Fran says, and gestures towards the main activation panel; it’s sparking and hissing, half buried under fallen rubble.

Balthier glances around then points to a secondary systems panel. “Patch it through there. And see if we can get ship-to-ship communication back!”

The injectors need to be replaced on this access port but that’s a relatively easy fix, and the port next to it is in good working condition – he slides the fuel cells into place and moves onto the next one, while Fran continues working on the systems panel and communications.

When the _Bahamut_ hits Rabanastre’s paling, they both feel it. No time to waste.

Fran finally gets the communications array receiving just in time for them to catch a message from the _Alexander_. “This is Judge Zargabaath, Captain of the _Alexander_ Flagship of the 12th Dalmascan Fleet of the Archadian Army. I address all ships in Rabanastre’s airspace. The _Bahamut_ must not be allowed to fall on the city of Rabanastre! We are preparing to ram her! Do not interfere!”

“Damn- can we send yet?” Balthier asks.

“Not yet,” Fran replies, bending to this task with even greater urgency.

“Why is everyone so eager to die?” Balthier mutters, twisting another bolt free and sliding home another fuel cell.

“Now,” Fran says.

Balthier turns on the microphone. “Hasty, aren’t they. I think it’s a little early to be throwing away our lives just yet.”

Vaan’s voice comes tinny back through the receiver. “Balthier? Wait, Balthier, where are you?”

“Ah, Vaan! Sounds like you made it out okay!” It’s a relief, and not a small one. “The _Strahl_ ’s a fine airship, eh?” Balthier pulls another used fuel cell free – this should be the last one.

The Marquis shouts, “What does he think he’s doing? Balthier!”

“Marquis! Stop that fool Judge on the _Alexander_ for me, would you? Just getting somewhere with this glossair rings. Almost done! Don’t want him ramming me before I fix them, do we?” Something else explodes nearby – so much for Doctor Cid’s last great accomplishment.

“Balthier!” Ashe sounds fairly panicked. “Do you understand exactly what it is you’re doing?”

Hah, as if Balthier hasn’t repaired the _Strahl_ dozens of times. The _Bahamut_ is just a little bigger, that’s all. “Princess! No need to worry.” He starts to replace the final fuel cells. “I hope you haven’t forgotten my role in this little story. I’m the leading man. You know what they say about the leading man? He never dies.” The last one clicks home and the engine finally starts to light up again, enough to bring them up off the paling. “Let’s fly! Fran! Power to the glossair rings.”

There’s no response.

“Fran?” Balthier turns; she’s collapsed beneath some fallen rubble, and Balthier’s heart leaps into his throat. “Do I have to do everything around here?” he asks, a poor effort to hide his concern. The secondary console is fixed; it takes only a moment to power the glossair rings and set a course away from Rabanastre.

As he’s pulling Fran out from the rubble he hears Ashe say something over the radio, but there’s too much interference to make it out.

As Balthier loops Fran’s arm around his neck, she stirs long enough to murmur, “I’d say you’re in more of a supporting role.”

Balthier looks at her. “Fran, please.” Lifting her up, and heading for the exit – or at least shelter – Balthier calls over his shoulder, “Vaan, the _Strahl_ ’s in your hands! You’d better take care of her, you hear? If there’s one scratch on her when I get back-”

“I- there won’t be. We’ll be waiting for you,” Vaan says.

“Oh, and Vaan? There’s a letter for you, in my room,” Balthier finishes.

If Vaan replies or even hears him, Balthier doesn’t know; the secondary systems panel explodes, taking the communications array with it.

“Past time for us to leave,” Balthier murmurs against Fran’s head, but such a thing is easier said than done.

Still. He always has been good at running. Time to do a little more.

 

The air in Rabanastre is little changed after a year away; it’s hot, dusty and Balthier daren’t walk through though market streets unless he wants to inhale more spices than he knew existed. A bangaa tries to sell him a dozen cactus fruits for a truly ridiculous amount of gil, and a winsome orphan stands by Balthier’s legs and tries to steal the money from Balthier’s pockets.

“You’ll have to try better than that,” Balthier tells her, pulling her hands away. “Choose your mark better next time.” Startled, she backs away, almost tripping over a moogle before she slips away into the crowd.

“You’ve missed it,” Fran says, watching the entire exchange. “Rabanastre.”

Tempting though it is to deny such a thing, Balthier resists. He settles for a mild shrug instead. “There are certainly worse places to visit. Now, I believe we have an appointment to keep.”

“One that is long overdue,” Fran points out, again. A few people pause to mark their as they proceed through the marketplace, but none of them are people Balthier recognises. Most are probably interested in Fran; there are few enough viera living in Rabanastre to make a spectacle of any who pass through.

“If you wanted to come back earlier, I wouldn’t have stopped you,” Balthier points out, ducking past a seeq.

“And return to the _Strahl_ alone?” Fran asks. “No. Both or neither. You knew it must be so.”

“Right,” Balthier mutters, pace slowing as they come within sight of the aerodrome. He stops altogether outside the entrance.

Fran sighs. “They will be glad to see us. A year is not so long as to forget.”

Balthier snorts. “It’s different with humes,” he reminds her.

“ _You_ have not forgotten,” Fran says, and then _she’s_ going inside and he has no choice but to follow her. They don’t stop to speak to anyone, simply make their way straight to the hangar – five minutes in the Sandsea had been enough to find out where Vaan was keeping the _Strahl_. Balthier finds his feet faltering again as they approach; he hadn’t asked about Vaan’s whereabouts.

Fran stops with him. She doesn’t say anything, but then, her silence says more than enough.

Balthier shakes his head, sighs, and finally strides forward, opening the hangar doors.

Fran, a step behind him, murmurs, “It will be good to see home.”

And then there she is. Gleaming in the midday sun, just as gorgeous as the day Balthier last saw her; the _Strahl_. Home. Enough to take a man’s breath away.

He’s across the intervening space and up the stairs into her in seconds, Fran only just behind him. As soon as he sets foot aboard, Balthier feels tension he hadn’t been aware he was carrying drain away, and takes a moment to revel in it. The _Strahl_ hums softly, and perhaps it’s a little conceited of him, but it seems as if she’s greeting him. Welcoming back.

Then he hears the voice.

“... could’ve sworn I heard something....” There are footsteps from deeper inside the _Strahl_. “Look,” and Balthier would recognise that voice anywhere, “I told you already, you can’t come in here-” Vaan freezes as he comes within sight of them.

“Oh?” Balthier asks, folding his arms and leaning back against the wall. “Funny, I could have sworn this was _my_ airship.”

“B-Balthier,” Vaan breathes, staring as if he’s seen a ghost.

“Vaan,” Balthier says, smiling.

Vaan punches him, hard enough that Balthier actually falls to the ground.

“ _Ow_.” Balthier rubs his jaw. “That’s like to bruise, you know.”

“You deserve it!” Vaan shouts, furiously, before dropping to his knees in front of Balthier and yanking him into a brief but brutal kiss. “You were gone for a _year_!”

“We missed you,” Fran says, and Vaan starts like he hadn’t even noticed her. His fingers, twisted in Balthier’s shirt collar, tremble. “Balthier especially,” Fran continues. She gently runs her hand through Vaan’s hair.

“ _Thank you_ , Fran,” Balthier says.

Vaan starts to grin, though his eyes look suspiciously wet. “I missed you too,” he admits, thickly, before shoving off of Balthier and getting to his feet. After a brief pause, he holds out his hand to Balthier, pulling him up too. “I read your letter,” Vaan whispers, as if that will in any way prevent Fran from hearing.

“Ah.” Balthier had wondered.

Vaan rubs at his eyes and asks, “You found something more valuable, huh?”

Fran is staring. Vaan’s expression is turning decidedly smug. Balthier sighs, and takes the only option left to him.

“Yes, Vaan,” he says, “I did.” Balthier curls a hand around the back of Vaan’s neck and kisses him.

Vaan laughs breathlessly. “I should go tell Penelo,” he whispers, resting his forehead against Balthier’s.

“Mm, you should,” Balthier agrees. “Or... you could come with us?”

For a moment, Vaan’s breath catches in his throat. “Really?” he starts, then, “I couldn’t,” but before Balthier can be disappointed, Vaan continues, “me and Penelo just got our _own_ ship and-”

Balthier presses a finger to Vaan’s lips. “I understand. The offer still stands; you don’t have to be aboard the _Strahl_ to come with us.”

It takes Vaan a moment to grasp Balthier’s meaning, but as soon as he does he grabs Balthier and Fran for a brief, bruising hug, before darting towards the stairs. “I’m going to get Penelo. Don’t you _dare_ leave without us!”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” Balthier murmurs to Vaan’s disappearing back.

Fran moves into the cockpit, and slowly starts to warm the _Strahl_ up. “Our destination?”

“Does it matter?” Balthier asks, staring up at the sky. “We have all Ivalice to choose from; let us spread our wings and fly.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [his blood on my bones](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10742574) by [jonphaedrus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jonphaedrus/pseuds/jonphaedrus)
  * [The Old Order](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12709335) by [Valkyrian_Profiler](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valkyrian_Profiler/pseuds/Valkyrian_Profiler)




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